JACKET
by Waves are Blue
Summary: It was all the fault of that stupid ball game. I ended up far from home, in an orphanage full of arrogance, where names are letters and letters mean the world. That’s where I met him. That’s where I met L. And this is my story.
1. Escaping The Cop

**JACKET**

* * *

PART ONE

* * *

 _Chapter one_

I started off as a Russian living in a German orphanage. Not exactly the norm. My birthplace was unknown, as were my mom and dad. Frau Annika used to tell me that my mom had been very pretty when she came to drop me here, and that she loves me, but Annika said that to all of us. Hugo, one of the older kids, told us that she was lying, and maybe was, but at the time, I didn't believe him. I liked to fantasize about my imaginary parents when I lay in bed, and also during class, while I colored our picture books. But the feeling of nostalgia got reduced to a nagging at the back of my mind as soon as daybreak came: there were others like me, after all. With them, I invested my time in games and fun, and the terrible longing was easy to forget. Especially when I was with my best friend, Mauro. The two of us liked to pretend that we were cars: he was McQueen and I was Mater, and we raced all over the place.

It was super fun, and super nice, and I was never lonely with him. But all good things end eventually, and in my case, it was sooner rather than latter:

One Halloween, a man came to our orphanage. He had a handsome face, complimented by a top hat, and there was a traveling-bag slung under his arm pit. A few of us assumed that he wanted to do trick or treat on our door, and so, took it upon us to give him a scare. However, there was no hiding spot that he couldn't pinpoint, and no mask that he couldn't see through. This garnered him the nickname of The Cop before he could even give us his own. But the introduction eventually did happen: Ashley Wilkes was his name, some social worker with good intentions, I think. However, that wasn't particularly accurate:

Ashley Wilkes was a man on a mission, and lamentably, I turned out to be that mission.

At the beginning, his visiting was really fun, I'll admit. We were all given our own number, kind of like Agent 007, and we had to call each other by it at all times. I remember Mauro's number being #19 and mine #26.

We felt like super spies!

It was a living horror for the caretakers though, since they had been given specific instructions not to slip in front of The Cop, and he kind of began attending our classes. Imagine what a mess roll call was! Luckily, there weren't many of us, and henceforth not many numbers for the caretakers to memorize. There was the baby playground, then came my own class, for children of ages five to nine, then one for those from ten to fourteen, and lastly came those aged fifteen onwards.

But there were also disadvantages to this system, of course: the youngest of us were somehow expected to keep up with the readings of the older children in our class, and although I learned this and that, I mostly devoted my time to whispering into Mauro's ear and he in mine—as opposed to listening to that gibberish. As you've probably garnered from my little introduction, I didn't much participate in lessons, if at all. They were boring, and I wanted Mauro to like me after all! Ironically, if any of this horrible mess had happened, it was _because_ of my best friend: Frau Schönebach one day decided to do something special, (possibly so she'd look good in front of The Cop) which is why she suggested that we all play a game. The idea was that someone should start inventing a story, which he had half a minute to talk about, and once the time was over, he was to pass Frau Schönebach's ball to someone else, who had to pick up the retiling as well as the ball. Normally, the big kids didn't pass the ball to us much, since we (okay—I) kind of didn't want to play. However, that day was different. Maybe it was the desire to look good in front of The Cop, or perhaps it was the product of whimsicalities, but Mauro cried out for the ball so fervently, that someone eventually passed it to him. And that, as impossible as it may sound, was the catalyst.

"So, the two twins were walking through the field and it was getting dark. Go on, Mauro," said Frau Schönebach.

"Yeah, so they walked to the street. But they were feeling cold, so they called up McQueen, and then they got on. And then, they were racing super fast, and it was crazy speedy and you could only see a red blur, uhh, you know, because McQueen's red, because once they painted him blue, but now he was red,—"

"Time's up!"

Startled, Mauro passed the ball towards me.

I blanched. I was very shy, and I didn't want to talk to so many of the big kids!

"And they ran out of fuel." I ended up dead-panning.

"Sorry, can you repeat that?" Frau Schönebach requested.

"Louder!" The other children cried.

I gulped.

" _Their fuel reserves were depleted._ " I said somewhat more loudly. "Since… uhhhh… uhh… There were no gas stations in a fifty kilometer radius, they had to get out of McQueen and walk to the closest town." With relief, I passed the ball to the next best person.

"Hey! That's lame! You were supposed to continue the story with McQueen!"

I shrugged helplessly.

"Sorry Mauro! I was just so nervous… I couldn't think!"

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw The Cop jotting something down on his notebook.

A few days later, (or night, since the sun hadn't risen yet), I was summoned to our biggest classroom, one I'd only seen in passing. I would've probably felt intimidated if it wasn't because it was so early in the morning: there was no one my age, only the older children I didn't even dare talk to. Some paper sheets were passed around, along with pens and pencils. I got myself a green crayon and flipped the paper over. There were funny little drawings of squares and triangles, which I ordered like the exercise said. The room was cozy and quiet, and the big children were too busy glaring at their desks to really make me feel threatened. Actually, I was feeling sleepy. There wasn't Mauro's shoulder to lean on today, but the palm of my hand did the trick too.

* * *

I woke up to the rustling of papers.

There was some drool over the page I'd been writing on, which I quickly brushed away with my sleeve.

"Last minute…" Frau Schönebach said to me. I blanched. Would she make me repeat this when she saw that I hadn't finished? That's what she always made me do when I didn't bother with the homework readings! But I _didn't_ want to get locked in a room with all the big kids again! A sudden stroke of genius came over me: unlike the assigned readings, which she could quiz us on, the papers on my desk weren't something you could write a summary about. There were—I counted—four pages, and I'd finished two… I picked up my crayon hurriedly, and started circling answers at random to the best of my ability.

A week later, I was playing hide and seek with Mauro, Jean, Lucas, Alan and Claudia when my world finally crumbled to pieces. I had eagerly hidden in the laundry room, wrapped in between bed sheets and blankets and cuddled inside a basket behind the door. I was about to slip out and try my luck, when I heard a conversation:

"Yes, we did." The cool voice belonged to The Cop of course.

"Ah, that's great! Which one is it?" And that was, without a doubt, my favorite caretaker, Frau Annika.

"He barely made it, as a matter of fact. One more question wrong and he wouldn't have passed." I peered around the corner, wondering where Mauro was.

"So you found someone gifted here…" Annika trailed off uncertainly. She looked a bit sad. "May I ask who it is?"

"That's unknown to me."

"Huh? Ah, of course, _the numbers_."

The Cop gave a chuckle.

« You will have to look at the files and see who it is for me."

"How so?"

"I have strict orders that prohibit acquiring the knowledge of the names of any of the children our orphanage takes in."

There was a moment of silence. I wondered about that. Why can't The Cop know our names? And what about another orphanage? Now I understood why Annika was so sad! They were sending someone away!

"Then who passed? Which number was it?"

"Number twenty six ma'am."

Wait...

My blood froze.

No.

I stared at the wall in shock. I must have heard him wrong.

WRONG!

"But that's…!" Annika said. "No, I don't believe it!"

"You know who it is." The Cop remarked.

Annika nodded sadly. "Do you remember that little redhead? Short and lithe, has lots of freckles…"

"The quiet one?" the Cop inquired. Annika paused, then gave a curt nod.

I couldn't for the love of god and cars believe my ears. They were talking about me!

"Please treat her well, she _deserves_ it."

And Annika was letting him take me, just like that. I felt a horrible knot forming in my stomach.

"I'd say that's an understandment ma'am, all children deserve to be treated well." I sniffed.

"No, but this is different. There are some circumstances to her arrival here…" They couldn't do this to me! Even if I was just small, they couldn't decide what was better for me, _just like that!_

"I'm sure we can have a most enlightening conversation outside, ma'am." The Cop shot a pointed glance in my direction, and he and Annika trudged away.

I unfurled out of the bed-sheets very slowly, blinking like crazy.

I sat behind the door.

At some point, Frau Schönebach found me and told me something elaborate, which summarized into my parting tomorrow morning.

 _There was no longer a doubt._

I cried.

After trying and failing to get my bearings back, I found myself stumbling towards Mauro's room. He'd know how to cheer me up. He'd think of something! I placed my hand on the doorknob indecisively. In any other situation, I would have probably been startled when it suddenly swung open without my doing anything, but as it was I just looked at my friend pleadingly, glad that he was here. Mauro glanced at my face with surprise.

"What's wrong? We already stopped playing hide and seek a long while ago."

"Mauro, it's The Cop…" I said. "He's taking me with him…"

His eyes widened,

"What?! Why can't _I_ go?"

I stared at him, suddenly furious. "Why would you even want to do that?" I wanted to stay here with him, and he just went and said he wished to leave me?!

"Huh? What's your problem!?"

"That's my line! I thought we were friends!"

We argued.

I had never argued with Mauro before.

But this time, I screamed at him.

And he looked at me with _hate,_ with _loathing,_ and told me, truthfully so:

"I'm fed up with you, always telling me what to do!" And then, he left me alone.


	2. An enormous house with so many snots!

_Chapter Two_

The next morning refused to make me wait, and came much too early for me, even though I hadn't slept. Everyone was there for the farewell. Everyone, that is, but the one person I really wanted to see. Before I could tell Mauro just how much I hated him one last time, The Cop called up a taxi, and I had to get on. The engine started, and I twisted my neck painfully, staring through the back window until my eyes could no longer read the inscription that I knew by heart: _Santa Portas Kinderheim_ was gone _—_ and that's when I started crying. Again.

The Cop told me something along the lines of that I'd be happy where we were going, that I belonged, or something equally unbefitting. I was in a no-nonsense mood and ignored him the whole ride.

Upon our arrival, I was expecting another evil and disheveled version of Santa Portas, but instead, the taxi ended up dropping us off in an expensive-looking hotel in Berlin. I had never been in the capital before, and I was kind of overwhelmed by the humongous buildings we saw in passing. Was the new orphanage here somewhere? It wasn't. The Cop informed me that there were pressing matters he needed to take care of, after which he handed me a bar of candy and asked me if I wanted anything, to which I shook my head. Then, he immersed himself in his laptop and left me to my own devices. I didn't touch the sweet, rather preferring to peer out of the balcony. I could see people bellow me, scurrying around like little ants by my feet, without a real purpose nor a face, nor a voice… nor anything to distinguish them, really, let alone make them memorable. I still had a very snotty nose from crying, as well as teary eyes. I stood there for a while, until it got cold and I had to sneeze, causing some of my mucus to fall, and fall, and fall. I stared downwards as though transfixed. An idea had started to form in my hazy mind, just as my snot fell on someone's head.

* * *

"Herr Ashley?" I tried. His gaze rose from the laptop at lightning speed.

"Yes?"

"I would like to buy a doll."

He typed something in his computer, and his brows furrowed.

"Alright…" he said after a pause. "We'll buy you one." He kept on glancing at the monitor to then turn it towards me and say: "choose one."

I scanned the web-page for a moment.

"This one," I pointed. It was kind of expensive, I think. But then again, we were staying at one of the most expensive hotels of Berlin, even though I didn't know that at the time.

The next morning, the doll arrived. Thankfully, The Cop didn't pay much attention to me that day, or otherwise he might have found my constant flushing of the toilet suspicious. Or the sintethic hairs on the toilet lid. Thankfully, I removed them on time.

I did my best to stay out of The Cop's way. You might think it difficult, but maybe not so much if I reveal that we were staying in a suite. Lucky me, I also found a bunch of devices that started blabbering as soon as someone tapped them. It felt like I'd gained my own personal assortment of parrots. I kept working on my project.

* * *

The next night, The Cop woke up to me parading about the balcony in my sleep. After all, I'm very accomplished at sleepwalking.

* * *

The very next day, we packed our things, as the Cop was determined to deliver me in one piece to our destination. The thought iccurred to me: what if he was a kidnapper?

We went to the airport, and that's when I got the hint that the orphanage might not even be in Germany. My horror was confirmed upon hearing someone announce through the megaphone something about boarding a flight to the Heathrow Airport, London. That was all the comfirmation I needed.

* * *

Our flight was a business class. I was quite tired of worrying, and intended to fall asleep right then and there, but something caught my attention: in the seats right behind us, there were two women talking in Russian. I understood the language as it was my native tongue, and so was automatically drawn to their conversation. I'd missed the sound of it.

"—well," said one of them, "my sister Darya even blacked out from it, so I don't think it's a myth."

"Are you for real?!" the other one exclaimed.

"Of course, what did you think? It's even got a scientific name."

"Well why didn't you say so earlier?! I'll look like a horrible person now!"

The other person chucked. "Sorry. I thought you knew. I guess you could try and explain it to Dina. I'm sure she'll understand."

"I hope you're right..." there was a sigh. "But how can you explain something like that?! Hey, I'm sorry about what happened, I just didn't know that you wet yourself each time you see blood?"

«Ugh… For god's sake, you're so emotionally constipated! Try to say it more tactfully, Irina. And the phobia of blood is called _haemophobia_ , dummy, and it's a very real thing!"

 _Haemophobia? What a funny name._ It reminded me of Emo fobia, something Hugo used to blabber about. Just thinking back at the Orphanage made my chest hurt, and so, I did my best to tune out the rest of the conversation.

As fought with my memories, I slowly started drifting into slumber.

It felt like five minutes when The Cop shook me awake.

"Go away…" I whispered, "Just lemme sleep five more minutes…"

"Tonight you can sleep," he told me, and I knew that was my cue.

"Will you let me sleep in?"

The Cop nodded.

"Thanks!"

* * *

That night was spent in a hotel near the airport. This time, The Cop booked a room at the bottom floor (so I didn't fall off the balcony). We went inside, and I waited for a moment before crying out that my doll lay forgotten in the airport. I guess Ashley Wilkes wasn't such a bad person after all, because he removed heaven and earth to find it, but no one in the airport had heard anything of my dear Odett. But that was understandable, since she was stored at the bottom of The Cop's suitcase. Wilkes just didn't know that. I told him that maybe I had just forgotten Odett at the reception, and The Cop stormed off like the hero of every good tale. Meanwhile, I took Odett out of his suitcase, and transferred the rest of his clothes, which had lain at the bottom of my little bag, inside. Obvioulsy, Odett couldn't have fitted into it, because of her size. Unsurprisingly, The Cop came back empty-handed, and so I told him that I wished to craft a new doll for myself by means of cardboard, scissors, crayons and glue, which he fetched for me all to happily. I smiled at him for the first time, although probably for reasons widely different from what he had in mind as he returned my grin.

* * *

I waited till The Cop was asleep in the room next to mine. As soon as I heard his breathing even out, I quietly slipped into my sandals (which cushioned the sound of my steps perfectly) and retrieved my tools and doll from their hiding place, as well as the three broken recorders I'd fetched back at Berlin. I snuck into the bathroom and cut off my long hair, to then paste it all over the head of the (previously bald) Oddet. I fumbled with the recorders and spoke into them huskily, ( _five more minutes…_ , _lemme sleep_ , and _go away_ ) and pasted them on Odetts stomach, back and head respectively. Then, I wrapped her in bed sheets till only a bit of her hair and nose peeked out and laid her on my bed. Satisfied with my work, I departed into the night through the window.

* * *

My escapade was short lived. As it turns out, children can't board a plane all ontheir own, especially if they don't have money and _their papers_ with them, whatever that means. It had taken me a very long time to reach the airport, even though the hotel was close by, but it only took The Cop ten minutes in a taxi—after the flight attendant who'd been looking for Oddet snitched on me. Ashley Wilkes looked livid as he picked me up. He then sat me down in a rented car and started driving directly to Winchester, without even letting me pick up my (few) clothes. I observed with vindictiveness that he hadn't even had time to shave this morning. Ha! He looked completely disheveled! I asked him, just to grate on his—nonexistent—nerves, why I wasn't allowed to bring my (admittedly horrible) clothes with me. The Cop answered with the ridiculous claim that children weren't allowed to bring objects to the orphanage, so I called him out on the bluff. The Cop just gritted his and continued driving.

* * *

"Welcome to Wammy's House," an old man said lamely. I was surprised he could speak even an ounce of German. I just eyed the rusted gates bitterly.

I was standing at the gates of _Wammy's House_ , accompanied of Ashley Wilkes and an elder man, who'd just come out of the grey building.

"You can go now, Pippit," the man added.

The Cop nodded towards the old guy and left the scene. I can't say I was too sad.

"Let's go," the man told me. I followed him through the yard. I couldn't see anyone. I looked around. There was an enormous house to which the man and I were headed. There were humongous trees around it. Along with an impressive garden. As we entered the house, I noticed that the windows there were huge as well, just like the doors and halls. I even saw a boy constructing an enormous Lego city in an equally enormous room.

Needles to say, I felt smaller than usual.

The old man and I passed many doors and corridors. Finally, we stopped in front of a wooden door. The man took out a set of keys from his right pocket and opened the door. We were in what I assumed was his office. The man walked towards a table placed in the middle of the room and sat down in an arm chair behind it.

"Take a seat," he said. I looked around. There weren't any other chairs in the room.

"Uh, sir..." I began. The man just looked at me quizzically. I stared at him for an uncomfortable while. Where was he expecting me to sit?

I ended up sitting down on the ground.

The man just looked at me. Or tried to. He couldn't see me over the enormous stacks of books and papers placed on his table

"Boy," he finally said, "stand up. I can't see you."

I obliged, looking at him weirdly.

"You're wrong," I told him. The man sighed like he had been told this many more times. "How am I in the wrong?"

"I'm not a boy." I muttered. The man just eyed me strangely behind his moon shaped glasses.

I suppose it was quite normal he'd thought that. I'd cut off the greater part of my hair just yesterday. And my clothes weren't very girly either. I wore some old jean dress with a dark cotton T-shirt underneath and my trusty old leather sandals on my feet.

"Alright," the man said skeptically, "I am the principal in charge of this orphanage. You shall call me Roger from now on."

"Roger that, Roger!" I giggled at the dumb joke. It was fake. Roger sighed.

"I believe I should tell you why you're here."

"Yes, I'd like to know that." I spat harshly.

Roger looked at me, probably confused by the change in attitude.

"This place is an orphanage for gifted children," he said finally.

I sputtered in a mix of surprise and outrage. I was here because of a mistake?! I had gotten into a fight with _Mauro,_ and been so, so sad, because someone had made a stupid mistake testing me?! I glared at him snarkily.

"I am not gifted," I spat. Roger sighed once more and disregarded my comment.

"The children that live here are raised for a very specific thing:" he made a dramatic pause—

"I am not GIFTED!" I bellowed, completely ignoring him. Old, normal, me? Gifted? It was ludicrous! I, who never spoke up in class, I, with the attention span of a mosquito? Please! I hated the world right then.

"Your test scores speak for themselves." Roger deadpanned.

I gritted my teeth. It was clear that I had no way out.

"As I was saying—" Roger continued rather briskly, "you are brought up here at Wammy's with one purpose in mind, which you may disregard if you wish to," he added, upon seeing the look on my face. "And that goal is… to succeed L."

I scratched my ear, clueless, and gave Roger a contemptuous look.

"If you're talking about something that someone _gifted_ , as you like to put it, should know, then you won't be getting an answer from me any time soon."

"Actually, I'd be quite worried had you known who L is." Roger said, dismissing my barb with ease.

"Eh… really?"

"Yes. L is kept a secret from the public."

"A secret? That sounds sketchy." I condescended. It actually sounded exciting, but I wasn't about to lick this man's boots after all his stupid organization had done to me!

"It's not. Only people related to the secret services or the police know of him."

This whole story was starting to sound too much like one of the stories Mauro and I loved the most. I hated it with a fervor now.

"Ah, so he's a criminal." I stated, against my better judgment.

"We are not training you to become criminals." Roger glared at me and then resumed his great speech. "L is one of the world's greatest detectives. Probably the best out of them all, an arising star. I've no doubt that he'll be the best in a matter of years."

I stared at Roger for a while. Well, if L was really such a big deal, then we'd have a problem, because the test I had to take in order to become his eventual successor was…

How to put it…?

Passable even if you fell asleep in the middle of it?

This L person seemed to be a big bluff if you asked me. Typical from rich people. All bark and no bite.

"Roger. Who does L work for?" I questioned flatly, hoping to expose Roger's lies. He just looked at me suspiciously.

"He works for many."

"Even for criminals?"

Roger glared.

"No."

"Ah."

I smirked devilishly and pointed my index finger at Roger, about an inch away from his forehead.

"You're wrong again!" I said in triumph.

Roger just backed away from my accusing finger. Once he considered himself to be at a safe distance, he proceeded to glare at me once more.

"Do enlighten me."

"You said that L is kept a secret from the public." I smirked, "but you also claimed that L solves cases for various kinds of people, and that he is one of the greatest detectives in the world..."

I trailed off and looked at Roger pointedly.

"That's a contradiction."

Roger stared at me for a good two minutes.

"Explain." he demanded. And so I did, although I suspected that Roger already knew where I was getting at.

"If L is unknown to the public, they can't ask him for help. If they can't ask him for help, he won't be able to solve cases for all kinds of people, nor gain the fame necessary to be dubbed one of the greatest detectives in the world." I grinned. "Admit it, this whole thing is just one big ruse!"

Roger looked at me with a serious face. But then, he did something unexpected: he smiled.

I looked at him in confusion.

"So you're a sharp one, ey?" I was taken aback.

 _What? Did I just give him a reason to keep me here?_

"Didn't I just make it clear that I'm _not_ gifted?!"

Roger chucked.

"What you said is true. But I also told the truth to a certain degree. The existence of L is not general knowledge, but of course there are some civilians who know of him. That being said, L only takes on cases of great magnitude: with more than ten victims involved, or with a reward above one million dollars. If one of these two conditions is met, L will establish contact with those involved and bring the case to a close.»

Rich brat.

"Thanks for telling. I was dying to find out." I said sarcastically. I think he didn't get it because he waved it off.

"And now, let's move onto other matters..." I looked back at Roger callously, "as I said before, L's identity is kept a secret. Therefore, you, the children trained to succeed him, are not allowed to reveal your name under any circumstances. It could cost you your life. Understood?"

I nodded slowly. So that's why…

"That's why all of the habitants of this orphanage choose alias by which they are referred to."

I gave him a blank look.

"You are to choose an alias now."

I looked at him in surprise.

"Is there some rule to take into account to choose one?"

"No, well, naturally, you can't choose L or anything that begins with it, but apart from that, you may choose anything you want."

"Then, would any name,—say, Jacket,—do?"

"Yes. However, you might want to pick something that… sounds better to the ear, if you catch my drift."

Was that stupid or what? I was getting fed up with all these rich snots and their superiority complex. Who was he to decide what name I chose?

"Well," I said spitefully, "too bad, because you're gonna have to call me Jacket now."

Roger sputtered.

"Jacket!?"

"Yes, _Jacket_."

"Are you sure? Not many people in the world get the chance of picking their own name, and this decision won't be reversible..."

Blah, blah, blah. Just leave me alone already!

"Yes, I can make my own choices!" Like not staying here, but you don't ask about that, do you?

Roger looked at me strangely, and I was tempted to take off his glasses and say: " _What's your problem? Don't you know it's rude to stare!?_ " Gee…

"Jacket it is" he finally echoed, typing something in his computer. "Then, eh… Jacket, I will now inform you of our 25-succeeding program."

"Twenty five?"

"Yes, a number for each letter in the alphabet."

"Weren't there twenty six letters in the English alphabet?" I asked in irritation.

"Yes, there _are_ twenty six. But we discount the L."

«Ah.» I said sourly.

Roger waved it off and kept talking.

"As you can probably imagine, there are more than twenty five children in the orphanage, and we can't have L looking at all of them just to choose one to succeed him… He is a very busy person, after all. That's why we have all the children take tests in various subjects each month. We calculate their arithmetic average and, based on their results, order them in a specific way. All children who have got the first letter of their alias in common will be classified into something like a… group. We commonly call them _genus._ There are twenty five genus in total. We choose the student with best scores in each, to represent their own letter. These heading students will obtain their group's initial letter as a… title, per-say. L can choose anyone to succeed him out of these twenty five children, although naturally, the ones with better grades will have a much higher chance…"

"Roger!" I interrupted, suddenly _very_ alarmed, "I don't speak English!"

Roger glanced at a file that The Cop had given him earlier on. "Hmm… well , about that… there is also a new orphan that speaks Russian like you. He's almost nine. May I ask how old you are now?»

"Seven."

"Alright, the difference isn't too great. I shall introduce you two. You will be going to classes with this boy for the following month. Both of you will have a native Russian teacher who will try to teach you as much English as possible. You will also revise with him basic knowledge such as reading, writing and arithmetic. Is that fine with you, Jacket?"

I gave him a withering look. _Does it seem like I have a choice?_

Roger sighed and shifted his glasses.

"After your first month, you will normally attend classes with the other children. I am aware that it may be a bit hard at the beginning, but you will at least have an acquaintance that speaks the same language as you. Also, I will inform you about a few relevant things regarding the classes schedule…"

I nodded my consentient as I braced myself for the upcoming monologue. Roger seemed to reciprocate my feelings.

"Breakfast is held downstairs in the dining room from six am to quarter to seven. Obligatory classes start at seven o'clock and will end at one pm. In this time span, you will attend to classes along with children from various genus with similar test scores than yours. There will always be less than ten children per class. Lunch is also held in the dining room from one pm to one thirty pm. Then, all children who choose to, will be coursing electives, particular classes in which they are taught about their own specialties (yours are yet to be discovered) until four thirty pm. Dinner is served at five pm. After that, you can do whatever you please until curfew at nine thirty pm. That is all."

"Dandy." I mumbled.

"I have already told you everything you need to know, Jacket." Roger said, looking relieved. "You can go now. I will call upon you tomorrow so we can do a general check up on your health, including allergies. Your room shall be room number 158, in the upper floor. I'll have someone bring you there later on. You are free to explore until curfew for today."

Roger made a dismissing gesture with his hand that indicated I should leave.

I was about to do so, yet suddenly remembered something. As Roger saw I wasn't moving, he asked,

"What is it?"

"Eh… I wasn't allowed to bring any personal items such as clothing with me so…"

"You will have to forgive us for that," Roger intoned, "but we have to be sure there are no unwanted items smuggled inside the orphanage. The children here are quite creative, you see. You will be provided with the necessary items by the staff. You will be able to choose any clothing articles of your choice next Sunday."

"Ah…"So the cop hadn't been lying. I gaped. "Thank you.» I said somewhat frostily, and shut the door behind me. Looking around, I discovered that I was in a giant corridor. Some children were running around the house now. I turned towards one of them and tapped him on the shoulder. I was going to ask him to tell me the time, but I suddenly realized I didn't really know how to. The boy was holding some kind of video game in his hands. He looked at me strangely.

"Uh…" I started. I wrecked my brain for anything helpful. I decided to try and use mimic. I tapped my wrist as though it was a watch. The boy seemed to get what I meant.

" _Ah, you wanna know the time, don't cha_?!" he said in English. I tapped my wrist again in case the boy hadn't got the message.

"Yeah, yeah," he said, "it's six twenty." I stared at him. Had he said something about six…? The boy sighed.

"Look," he told me. I eyed him in confusion.

"Huh?" He showed his video game into my face. Eh? What was I supposed to do with that?

The boy sighed again and pointed at the upper corner in the right. 18:23.

 _Ah… How smart._

I nodded at him thankfully.

"Danke!" I smiled at him, hoping I could make a friend, but the boy just looked at me in bafflement and walked off. I sulked quietly against the wall. Roger had said dinner was held at five o'clock, so I'd already missed it… what should I do now? I pondered that for a while. I missed playing with the other kids, but it was clear that I wouldn't be able to discuss McQueen with them now. I absolutely hated not to know what other people spoke about. I needed to fix this language barrier issue ASAP. Maybe I could borrow some kind of book from the library (I was sure there had to be one in this rich vipers pit) to learn a bit of English.

But where was it?

I haphazardly chose corridors and opened doors. Basically, I walked around without having a clue of where I was going until I started to fell lost. I passed many rooms, but not the library. I even passed dorm number 158, my bedroom. At least I wouldn't have to look for it later.

I suddenly heard cackling and whirled around in alarm. There stood an elder boy (I estimated him to be around 14 to 15 old) with very dark, brown hair, pale skin and hazel colored eyes. They almost looked red. I tried to ignore him and opened a random door to keep looking for the library.

He approached me. Only _that_ already put me at unease.

I fastened my pace. The boy started cackling again. He tapped me on the shoulder.

As I turned around to face him, I saw that his face was completely expressionless, not a trace of his previous laughter in it.

"I see, the new girl… interesting!" He said, still in a monotone. But what surprised me the most was that he said it all in perfect Russian.

"How did you know…?" I started. I'd always been told that I did not look particularly Russian,—I guess my ginger hair and blue-grey eyes did the trick—and I definitely did not look like a girl… Yet this boy had instantly known both my nationality and gender. It made me fell exposed in a way. I suppose Roger's paranoia about one's identity had somehow passed onto me.

"Your face says it all!" The boy exclaimed (still looking calm) to then start cackling like a maniac again. As a second thought, I was not going to miss this chance to find the library. This teen spoke my language.

"Eh… sorry, but… where's the library?"

The boy just looked at me and with a straight face responded,

"There is none." I looked at him in surprise.

The teen then broke into a fit of giggles and chanted "You fell for it! You fell for it!" After a while, his laughter recessed and he turned towards me in a serious manner.

"This way," he beckoned me, and scurried off into another room. I followed wordlessly. I had to run to catch up with him and his long-legged steps.

"Thanks for showing me the way." I told him. He glanced my way. Then back at his feet.

"Won't you run into a wall if you keep looking at your feet like that?" I asked shyly, "I mean, I do it too, and it has earned me a few injuries already…"

He chucked halfheartedly.

"I don't like seeing the human face," he said, "all except mine." I shrugged my shoulders. What a stuck-up.

Then, my stomach suddenly made a noise. I stared ahead out of embarrassment and pretended not to have heard. The teen cackled. He took a red bottle out of his pocket and showed it in front of my face. I'd barely had time to read «STRAWBERRY FLAVORED JAM! 100% NATURAL!» when he placed it back in his pocket.

What an ironic jam tin.

"I'm not giving you any!" the teen sang. I just wondered why on earth he carried a jam bottle in his pocket. And why, if we were in England, the jam container was from Germany. Then, the strange teen went back to his monotone face and commented,

"I am assuming that Roger must've kept you in his office for quite a while."

I just nodded my head slowly.

"Roger is a poodle." the boy said. And then he burst out laughing again. I just kept my face neutral. A poodle, as in a dog? What? He then calmed down and continued blandly: "All he does is useless talking.»

«I wouldn't quite call the time spent in Roger's office _useless_.» I said sorely. Sure, he was a rich snot, but the orientation _had_ been helpful. The boy just stared at his feet anew. Then he rose his gaze and stared directly above my face. I attributed this to his dislike of direct eye contact.

"He must have surely given you one of those useless alias to try and lengthen your life span…"

I nodded. "Jacket."

"Jacket?" his brows shot upwards.

"Jacket." I confirmed.

"In that case... I've lost my bet!"

"You made a bet about me? With whom?"

The boy looked up from the ground slowly to meet my eyes with his. They gleamed like blood rubies.

"With Aunie…"

I looked at him, confused.

"It must be nice to have a friend at your side." I sighed.

"Well, actually, he's standing at _your_ side."

I yelped in fear and leapt backwards, yet there wasn't anything there. The boy giggled and walked up to me (while grinning creepily), covering the distance I'd put between us. We had come to a halt.

I tried to brighten the atmosphere by asking something else.

"And what did you bet with him?"

"I bet… that every single orphan that came to Wammy's would choose the same first initial of their true names in their alias."

He looked at me expectantly.

"But you can hardly make a bet about that! No one would even tell you their real names! Including mw!" I argued. The boy just chucked. This whole ordeal left an uneasy feeling at the pits of my stomach.

"Everyone but you did as I said… Even the smart ones!" the boy rebutted merrily, to suddenly grow serious. "Even though they all had a chance to choose their alias!"

I looked at him curiously.

"You speak as though _you_ didn't.» I commented.

"You're right, I didn't," he said curtly. "I am B."

"No, I didn't mean that," I explained. "Roger also told me that if I form part of the successor line, I'll automatically be called just J.» It surprised me that he of all people was part of the brainy kids.

The boy looked at his spidery fingers with disinterest.

"You don't understand," he said, bored. "I was erected as B, from the English word for backup."

I looked at him with new eyes. Backup. Had he really been named that? I deemed it as cruel in my mind.

"Backup, as in L's backup?"

The boy, Backup, just looked at me unhappily.

"You wish!" he exclaimed. There was a crazy glint in his eye. Then, calming down, he added: "No. I was named such as backup of the so called A."

He was completely serious again.

"A? Do you think you could introduce us?" I asked hopefully.

"No!" Backup shrieked in between laughs, "A is dead! Dead! He hung himself!"


	3. The Glaring Girl

_Chapter Three_

I was kind of spooked by this B person, but at least I was now at the library. Looking around, I was once again reminded of the riches in this place: the library was gigantic. I paced around the shelves for a while, but failed to see anything resembling German.

"Can I help you?" A voice suddenly asked. I looked up in confusion. A young woman stood in front of me. She'd said something in English, yet I had no idea what.

"Uh…" I stuttered.

I tried to remember anything that could be of use to me.

"Are you looking for a book? " The woman questioned. She pointed at one of the books on the shelves, and that was more than enough for me to understand. I perked up.

"Ja!" I said "Buch!"

The woman scrunched her brows together.

"May I ask what type of book?" I blinked unsurely. "Could you be a bit more precise?" the woman said. I just stared at her. What did she want now?

The librarian seemed to understand that I was not English speaking. She proceeded to repeat herself very slowly:

"What-kind-of-book."

I resumed staring at her. Given the context and the fact that she mentioned a book in her sentence, (and that she was a librarian) she must have been asking about the name of the book I required. I wanted a dictionary, but how could I tell her?

I recalled a word that might help me. It had the same meaning and pronunciation in German and English after all!

"Data." I said.

"A book about data? " the woman asked. "Are you talking about something related to computers? Big data maybe? "

I shook my head vigorously. I did understand the term "computer" seeing as the word was very similar in German.

"Nein! Nicht!" I said. "Book _mit_ data _von_ DEUTSH zu Englisch!"

"You mean a dictionary?"

"Huh?"

"An English to German dictionary?"

I stared at her.

The woman sighed. She suddenly grabbed me by the hand. I was startled and yanked it off rudely. The woman just rolled her eyes and left. I stared at her.

"Wate!" I called in German. But to no avail, she was gone.

I just stood there feeling clueless. After a while, she came back with an enormous book in her hands which she gave it to me. I took it and was suddenly overwhelmed by its weight. After regaining my composure (the book had almost caused me to fall to the ground), I resolved to open the lexicon. Finally! German words again!

I smiled at the woman.

"Danke!" I said with no little amount of relief. The woman smiled back.

"You're welcome."

After that, I left the library and tried to find my way back to my room. I succeeded on my second try. Admittedly, I was quite proud of myself. Feeling invigorated, I marched into dorm 158 and promptly discovered my room not to be only individual, but also much larger than any other room I'd ever had as my own. There was a window that faced the yard, a wooden table and chair that were far too big for me, and a bed that was also very spacious if you took my size into account. The dull appearance wasn't really improved by the grey floor and white walls. Well—perhaps dull wasn't the right word… Rather than that, it simply had this cold and foreign air about it. Too big and dethatched for me. Reluctantly resuming my inspection, I also noticed a closet, a bin under the desk, and lots of empty bookshelves. I rummaged around the wardrobe. There were three pairs of the same outfit, which consisted of a clean white T-shirt, together with some equally neat, white trousers. I peered down at my ragged clothes and sighed.

They would have to do till Sunday.

With that, I shook my sandals off, closed the curtains and plopped into the bed.

This was really the first moment in which I had had time to think since leaving Santa Portas Kinderheim. I thought back to Mauro. To Claudia and to Alan. To all of the children there. I thought back to Mauro's parting words.

Or rather, his silence.

I remembered the look on his face.

Why was he so upset?

Did the others feel the same way?

But it wasn't my fault!

Didn't they know?!

They must have!

I started tossing around and turning in the bed. This continued to go on for hours. I couldn't sleep. I sighed. It was already deep into the night.

 _This is pointless,_ I finally concluded.

I got up and walked towards the window. I stared outside. Right then, I realized that my mouth was dry. I needed water. Looking around the room, I couldn't see any water. I resolved to look for it somewhere else, which is why I left my bedroom bare-feet and in the middle of the night, looking for something that could be anywhere in a gigantic building in which I'd never been before.

 _Roger, you're right. I'm immensely gifted_ , I thought snorting.

I walked down the next best corridor on the right, and then kept walking until I reached the end of it. It was deadly quiet, I could only hear my footsteps that made a tapping sound on the cold pavement.

Tap.

Tap.

I decided that I liked the peace that the silence offered. It made me feel comfortable. I didn't have to talk about McQueen to anyone when I was alone, I told myself. I was free to say whatever I wanted! But there would be no one to listen.

I sighed. How stupid! I thought, _I don't need anyone to listen to me! I'm better off alone, anyway!_

I took in a deep breath of air and resumed my walk down the hallway with renewed vigor.

 _Clank._

I froze on the spot. What was that? Turning around swiftly, I listened intently. Was there someone awake at a time like this? And in that case, who? Could it be Backup? Speaking of him wasn't he–

Clank.

I froze. There definitely was someone there. I tried to locate the source of the sounds. Hmm. I began walking (this time even more quietly) in the appropriate direction, until I came across a huge wooden door. Pausing, I strained my ears.

Clank.

Good. I was on the right track. I only needed to open the door now… Slowly, I stretched my hand out and pushed. The door gave in. I pranced forwards and looked around. There was another long corridor, no one in sight.

Suddenly, there was a loud, creaking sound behind me, making me almost jump out of my skin. Backtracking my steps, I discovered that it had only been the door I'd just gone trough.

I kept walking.

Clank.

The repetitive noise was louder now. I went down two flights of stairs and turned to the left. I held my breath. The sounds were very close now. Just up ahead...

The next door on the left and–

Out of the corner of my eye, I discovered a little "WC" sign next to a blue door. Wasn't I looking for water in the first place? I resolved to go inside the bathroom, ignore the strange sound,—I was afraid of having another encounter with that crazy Backup again, especially at night—and instead, drink the much required water from the bathroom's sink. Observing my surroundings, I concluded that I was in fact in a restroom for boys, but I didn't pay much mind to it. Who'd be here to see me at this late hour, anyway? Even if they did, my sex was (on a first glance) rather discussable, not to mention that the washroom was bathed in darkness. On a first glance, the sink was too high for me, but fortunately, I was in a good physical condition and thrust myself upwards without much trouble. Crawling around long beech trees helps. Yet as I was thirstily drinking from the sink, there was suddenly a shadow reflected by the mirror in front of me. With a startled yelp, I abruptly turned around.

Nothing.

I was starting to feel rather creeped out, and resolved to go back to my room ASAP! But even back in the upper floor, I still felt observed. And worst of all, as I reached for the big, wooden door and pushed—I remembered something: didn't the door open the other way? But… There was no handle! I couldn't go back to my room now! Or at least, not without, venturing into the unknown. I was starting to feel anxious.

"No." I mumbled. It was clear that aimlessly pushing the door wouldn't get me anywhere, which meant I'd have to wait for someone to find me next morning. But as I pondered it, the thought of just sitting down in the darkness felt more crippling than anything else, so I ended up retracing my steps back to the bathroom. I knew that if I could only find my way to some point of reference, like Roger's office or the library… I was sure I could reconstruct the rest of the way to my room from there on.

But just as I was congratulating myself for the idea, I suddenly felt watched yet again. This time, I couldn't bare it anymore, and peered into _the_ room of the sounds.

Marbles.

That's the first thing I saw. Marbles were spread all around the floor like stars in the sky. The top of their dark silhouettes reflected the moon's light, giving the whole picture a strange aura. I tore my gaze from the floor, and saw a… structure. It was a gigantic mockup-like tower, but it looked off somehow: there were holes in it, and the structure itself didn't seem to be constructed in order to gain as much height as possible. It was made up of five bases on which high "tubes" rested, and had gotten something akin to bridges that connected all of them.

I was so captivated by the whole image, that I forgot about the sounds and their possible source, never mind the person sitting in a corner of the room.

Afterwards ogling the strange room to satisfaction, I walked around the place for what seemed to be an eternity, until I finally stumbled across a familiar corridor. Roger's office was located in this passage! I was sure of it. I walked closer to where I thought it had to be, and bingo! I'd found it! It was right around the corner. I quickly made my way towards it. But then...

Sounds again. I stopped death in my tracks. But wait… these weren't like the ones I'd heard before. No, if I had to place them, I'd say it sounded more like the... shuffling?

I carefully closed the distance, until it eventually became clear that the sounds came from Roger's office. Ever so carefully, I peered through the crack of the door. The faint light that shone through the window made it possible to make out the insides of the room. And that included the girl standing behind Roger's desk. She was rummaging through drawers and revolving the countless papers lying on Roger's desk. I stared at her in shock. Was she trying to steal something? Should I tell Roger? Just as I was about to leave, to my utmost horror, she looked up. Her eyes pierced trough my own. I was startled, and intimidated, and couldn't help but glance at her balled fists and clenched jaw. It had already been quiet before, but this new silence was different. It was a tense silence, one of those film scenes that don't need background music to be epic. My nerves were killing me. In a fright, I darted out of the door, hoping that the girl wouldn't chase me.

Somehow, I made it back to my room, climbed back into bed with a relieved sigh. But I soon found that I wasn't tired at all. I flicked the lights on and took something from the nightstand. _Deutsch zu Englisch Wörterbuch._

Halfheartedly, I opened the dictionary and began skimming through it, but there was nothing better to do. So I read. Page after page, trying to stick with as many words as I could.

Finally, I started feeling more and more tired, until the blanket of sleep got draped around my fuzzy thoughts. I dreamt. And then I woke up.

I glanced around my room. _What's going on?_ I thought.

Absentmindedly, I climbed out of bed, failing to notice the dictionary which had been sprawled out on my stomach, and now fell to the ground with a loud thud. I stared at it blankly. _That's right..._ I thought, I was going to live in Whammy's House from now on. I slowly ducked and picked up the dictionary. After doing this, I just walked out of my room.

I was still bare feet and in yesterday's clothes. My short red hair probably looked like a horde of buffaloes had stomped on it, but I didn't pay either much mind. As I passed the library, I took a peek at the clock there. 13:15. _Say what?!_ I sprinted towards the dining room. Clearly, I'd already missed breakfast, and Roger had said that lunch was from one to one thirty, which meant I was completely late even for that. When I finally found the dining room, I was already out of breath. Unsurprisingly, it was a big space. There were lots of wooden tables and chairs (more than needed, anyway) and huge windows that offered a splendid view of the sneezing gardener. I quickly made my way to one of the empty tables in the right corner.

"Jacky!" someone said in a singsong voice.

I turned. "…Backup," I greeted. Said individual grinned eerily.

"Why don't you sit with us, Jacky?" he asked me.

"There's nobody sitting next to you, Backup." I said carefully. Backup looked at the spot on his left. He was quiet for a while. Then his voice became serious.

"Beliefs are useless. Don't believe in what you can't prove."

"Hmm…" I shrugged my shoulders and sat down next to him (on his right, the left was too eerie).

"But you can't prove that there really _is_ someone sitting next to you, either." I said after a while.

Backup just stared at me very fixedly as only answer. We sat in silence for a while until it occurred to me why I was here in the first place:

"Backup, do you know where I can get something to eat?"

Backup, who was in the process of biting down on a strawberry jam sandwich looked up at me, chewed, and said,

"There are many places where you can get something to eat, such as a: bar, cafeteria, café, canteen, chophouse, coffee shop, dining room, dive, doughnut shop, drive-in, eatery, eating house, fast-food restaurant, greasy spoon, grill, hamburger stand, hashery, hideaway, hotdog stand, inn, joint, luncheonette, lunchroom, night club, outlet, pizzeria, saloon, soda fountain, watering hole-"

"I don't care about all that!" I interrupted.

"Then why ask?"

"I meant: where can I get something to eat _here_."

"Ah, I see..." Backup said between chews, "that would be over there" he pointed in the general direction of some tables with trays on them.

"Thank you," I growled.

"Any time."

I ignored Backup and instead strode over to the tables and took a look at them. There was a tray with a lone bread loaf inside. There were also other trays, but almost all of them were empty. I went back to Backup.

"Hey, " I questioned monotonously, "what's the meaning of this?"

Backup looked at me.

"If you are referring to the pronoun, it's used to identify a specific person or thing close at hand or being indicated or experienced referring to a specific thing just mentioned, in case you mean an adverb—"

I just glared at him. He was a fast speaker.

"I'm sure I'll be able to die on peace now that I know."

Backup licked his fingers. "I'm glad I could help." he said.

"Backup " I said, now seriously, "there isn't anything for lunch there."

"There isn't?"

"No. Nothing besides some bread."

"Jacky is so funny! " Backup giggled.

"Oh, am I?"

"Yes! "

"And why would that be?"

"That's our lunch ." he said. And he started laughing again.

I just gaped at him.

"What? You only eat _bread_?"

"Yep."

Well… okay.

I strode over to the counter with bread on it and took a loaf. The only one left, actually. There were also trays with what I now recognized to be peanut butter, the sad remains of a salad, and other potential aliments. I glanced around and was greeted with the gorgeous sight of a little bowl of chocolate mousse. _Delicious…_ Yay! I attempted to grab it, but was deterred by a sudden and most unwelcome pain in my shin. Someone had kicked me! Instinctively, I reached out towards my left leg while putting my weight down on the right one, resulting into a halfway crouch. There was someone standing before me. I lifted my gaze from the ground. There stood the girl who I had caught rummaging in Roger's office last night. Now, watching her up close and in daylight, I could distinguish her features better: she had fulminating azure eyes, and short blonde hair styled into a pageboy haircut. Her lips were curved into a cruel smirk as she looked down at me. But the moment was quickly over, and the girl turned around and walked off. I followed her with my gaze. Once in her table, I saw four more finished bowls of chocolate mousse placed on top of it. I think it goes without saying that I had killing intent written all over my face by then. There was nothing I wished more dearly right then than to kick her back in the shin a hundred times stronger. But first came standing up. I did so with some difficulty, but was interrupted by Roger, who suddenly and unexplainably appeared in front of me.

"Jacket, good to see you," he said. "I am assuming you haven't eaten yet?"

I looked at him in the eye and nodded slowly.

"Good. "Roger said, "at least one of you has followed my orders."

Eh… What?

"I'll be waiting for you in my office. I want you there at 14:15 sharp."

I nodded once again and set my gaze on the stupid girl again. I strode over to her lone table with a bit of difficulty, making sure not to limp. As I approached, I noticed some boys arguing with her about something, successfully masking my presence. I positioned myself right behind that jerk and slapped her face with all my force. The girl whirled around in shock, but it quickly morphed into hatred once she saw me. I stared at her intensely, barely aware of the attention I'd brought to myself. She rose a fist as I tensed my muscles, the pain in my shin momentary forgotten.

"Now what do you two think you're doing?!" Roger had got sudden appearances down to a form of art… and right then, he was hopping mad. He scrutinized both me and the stupid girl in anger.

"Jacket! And Mello, you too! What do you think you are doing?!" I glared. I wasn't feeling guilty. She'd deserved it. Roger adjusted his glasses, a bit more calmly now. He sighed deeply. "Please, refrain from carrying such acts of violence in the future," he said finally. "Wammy's House isn't a place for vulgar fighting.

I scowled. The girl sneered. I turned around in a swift motion and stalked out of the dining room. As soon as I was outside, I started limping my way to my room.

14:15

I stood inside of Roger's office, studying the ceiling's light bulbs with apparent interest. There was a knock on the door.

"Come in, " Roger said. And inside stepped the stupid girl, Mello. As soon as she set eyes on me, she started glaring.

Ditto.

Roger harrumphed and began talking. "As you both know, I promised to introduce you to another Russian speaking orphan," he started, "and here you are. I understand that you two already seem to be acquainted and I will ask you to make an effort to get along—"

"I'm not getting along with her!" I interrupted angrily.

As per usual, Roger talked right over me. "Now you two shall meet your instructor. As I've said before, he will be teaching you for the following month about the English language and other educational basics. Also —" He was interrupted by a knock on the door. "Yes, come in, come in ".

A man entered the room. I scanned him quickly. _He_ would be my teacher? Oh, please! He looked to be in his thirties, and was fairly tall, (Okay, very tall). He had blue eyes, brown hair and a stubble beard.

"Поздравления, " he told us in prefect Russian. His voice was quite deep. "я Владислав, и я буду Вашим учителем в течение ближайшего месяца."

 _Greetings, my name is Vladislav and I will be your teacher for the coming month._

Mello jumped upwards.

"Are you kidding me?! " she screamed, "There's no way 'n hell I'm havin' this jerk as my teacher!"

I looked back and forth between Mello and Vladislav. Finally setting my gaze on the former one, I decided to intervene.

"I think you're stupid." I said bluntly to Mello. "You don't know him, and you've already started looking down on him. Therefore… you're a totak xenophobe!" Truth be told, to me, Vladislav didn't give off a particularly good vibe either, but I decided that sucking up to him would be the best thing to do. Mello was about to yell something else when she was interrupted by Vladislav's deep voice.

"Now, now, you two, " Vladislav said ominously, "there's no need to get… jumpy".

Roger looked at us sternly.

"You better not, " he mumbled.

"Very well then... " Vladislav continued, "we'll be leaving now."

"Yes, of course " Roger responded, "have a nice time."

Vladislav opened the door of Roger's office and gestured Mello and I to go through. We silently walked down the hallway, (I did my best not to limp). I was feeling awkward, like I needed to say something.

"Uh..." I started, "where are we going?"

Mello glared. Vladislav didn't say anything and looked at me askance.

"Nurse's office."

And then, silence again.

"Uh… And why?"

Vladislav gave me the evil eye and proceeded to ignore me. The rest of our walk to the nurse's office was reigned by silence. When we arrived, the nurse said that she had to take some blood from Mello and I (hence the fasting) but apparently, Mello's blood couldn't be taken as he had eaten something, namely my chocolate mousse. So the only one left was me. The nurse made me sit down on a chair and proceeded to take out a needle. I saw Mello eyeing it with dread.

Hmm...

The nurse pinched me on my elbow's bend with her needle, and started filling a few plastic containers with the blood that somehow (seemed to) be gravity defying as it was pulled out of my arm and catapulted through a tube into the bottles. I stared at my own blood with fascination.

"Freak."

The words resonated in my mind for a while before I turned away from my circulatory liquid and towards the insult's source. I gazed at Mello with displeasure.

"Freak," she repeated. "That's what you are! A freak! "

I looked at her and hummed in fake amusement.

"I don't think so." I told her mildly. Besides… judging by the look on your face just now… You are affected by _haemophobia_."

I grinned smugly.

"I don't care!" she screamed, "freak!"

"You don't even know what haemophobia is, do you?" I questioned venomously. (Ignoring the fact that I'd learned the term eavesdropping on two women on a plane just a day ago).

"Of course I do! But even if I didn't, you'd still be a freak!"

Ignoring her comment yet again, I explained what it was.

"Are you accusing me of being afraid of blood?!"

"Why yes!"

"Then prove it! "

I smirked and took the blood bottle the nurse was filling and showed it into Mello's face.

Mello screamed.

 _AUTHOR'S NOTE_

 _First off, I'M AWARE THAT MELLO IS A BOY!_

 _Secondly, I've reread this chapter endlessly, and I've come to the conclusion that it is just plain boring long!_ _Please tell me if you think otherwise (and also if you think it is boring!) In any case, I'd greatly appreciate it if you did a REVIEW as in review._ _I want you to be harsh, and I want you to be honest._ _Let's get this straight:_ _THE MORE FLAWS YOU POINT OUT (obviously with a reason) THE MORE I'LL LIKE YOU._ _I LIKE CRITIC._ _I WANT YOUR POINT OF VIEW!_

 _Well... If you really think my story's boring, I doubt you'd bother to let me know._ _But oh well..._


	4. Needless needles

_Chapter Four_

«I'll see you two tomorrow. We'll meet here after breakfast. Don't be late.»

With these parting words, Vladislav decided to leave an angry looking Mello and myself behind. Mello scowled.

«A man like me's never late!» Mello proclaimed.

A man? So sh- no, _he_ was a boy?

I stared at _him_.

Well...

He looked quite… girly. Although I supposed that he didn't act much like a girl. And I myself wasn't one to talk.

«Looks like you're not only haemophobiac, but also a sexist. » I mumbled, «quite the combination.»

«What did you just say?!»

«Nothing!»

Mello was now ticked to say the least. And even though I knew him for less than a day, it was quite clear that staying around to see what happened wasn't the smartest thing to do.

So I excused myself with a lame "I'll see you later" and hushed away as quickly as I could.

Once in my room, I resumed reading the dictionary again. As time passed, it became more and more difficult to ignore the growling in my stomach. I was so _hungry_.

After a while of useless staring at the book, I resolved to get up. I didn't know the time and thus couldn't know when dinner would be held. And thus would miss it. _Consequentially, I'll starve to death!_ I thought panicked. _It'll be a vicious circle!_

I now believe I might have overreacted a bit at the time, but well, it's understandable. The stomach has a mind of its own, they say.

So I sprinted down the hallway and into the library, which was my only time reference. Glancing at the big wooden clock there, I was upset to discover the time to be four twenty pm or so, which left forty minutes to go till lunch. I turned around and shuffled back upstairs. Hmm… waking up on time tomorrow was important (mainly to get my breakfast). But in order to do so, I'd need an alarm clock, which I didn't have.

So… what could I do?

I decided to go and ask Roger for an alarm clock. This was an orphanage for spoiled kids, after all. Getting something so simple couldn't be too difficult, right?

Wrong.

Obviously, I didn't know that yet, so I made my way to Roger's office in the second floor.

As I approached, I heard Roger talk. So he wasn't alone... Maybe it'd be a better idea to come back later and ask him then? But then again, chances were that Roger was simply talking to himself. There was a great number of people (specially elder people) who talked alone, and I could envision Roger as one of them. But on the other hand...

While I was comparing and weighing out the chances of Roger being alone, I approached the door to his office. And at the time I had finally decided I'd be better to come back later, I was already standing in front of it.

Muffled sounds came from the inside. I could make out Roger's tired voice as he talked (it was apparent now) to someone else.

«Yes, that would be it. » Roger said in English.

«I see…» another voice responded. The voice was, in my opinion, well, how to put it...? Contradicting.

It was rather high pitched, (probably belonged to someone my age) but, contrary to what you might be thinking, the voice didn't seem to be the one of a child.

Okay, I know this sounded confusing, but let me explain. The voice's _pitch_ was from a kid, no doubt, but the... intonation, the way it spoke, wasn't child-like at all.

The voice was blank, acomplete monotone. It was so void of emotion that it made my skin crawl.

I'd never heard something like it before.

The voice implied that there was a kid my age, maybe even younger, who was a cold ice block. One thing was obvious: it was no ordinary child. It was better to go unnoticed by him or her.

I prepared to leave. But then, the voice came again. Harsh, blank and calm. So very calm. The voice was in control.

«Roger, why don't you let her in?»

I froze in shock.

A small noise of surprise was audible, presumably, it came from Roger. Then steps. Towards the door. My door. I mean, not my door, but the door I was standing behind! I was trembling in anticipation.

The door's handle was pulled down.

Roger peered at me. He arched a brow and looked at me in question.

But I couldn't care less about Roger.

There, sitting in the very spot I'd sat merely a day ago, sat _it_. It looked so inhuman, that I originally thought that it did not deserve to be called a him.

The creature of steal.

It was as blank as I'd expected. But in more ways than one. Not only in its demeanour, but also physically: with pale, almost white skin, platinum blonde, completely white hair, and white, neat and spotless clothes. The same ones I was wearing.

But _it_ wasn't looking at me. It had turned around, sat alone, facing away, distant.

I stared. I don't think I'd ever looked at something with such intensity before until then.

«Jacket, is there anything you need?»

Rogers' question (thankfully in German) shook me out of my daze. I fixed my gaze on him, nodding unsteadily.

Roger arched a brow.

«Well? What is it?»

«She was eavesdropping, Roger.» The cold voice, which belonged to the blank creature sitting on the floor, had gotten much closer to me. I looked. He was now standing next to me on the left. Surpressing a shiver became the most difficult thing in the world right then.

Completely ignoring it, or at least, what concerned the outward appearance, I turned towards Roger.

«I really need an alarm clock.»

Roger looked at me in detachment. He seemed to believe the boy: he was angry at my eavesdropping.

«I'm sorry, Jacket, but I believe I already told you, didn't I?» without awaiting an answer, he continued, «in this orphanage, you shall be given privileges depending on your ranking in tests-»

«Say _what_?!» I interrupted. «You haven't told me! And anyways, you're stinking rich! I hardly see how an alarm clock can be labeled as a 'privilege'! I only want it to wake up on time for breakfast!»

«It foments competition.» The blank kid spoke up.

«I don't think that dying a painful death out of famine will help me out a lot in tests.» I spat.

The boy actually had the gall to snort.

Roger ignored me yet again and started ordering the countless papers on his desk.

I was about to start an argument about the horrors of Wammy's House and how Roger was a lame dictatorial grandpa and L was a rich lying brat and whatever else that came to mind, but was successfully stopped.

«You're a loser.»

I snapped my head to the left, staring directly into the blank boy's face, who was absorbed in a close examination of the floor.

«Did you just call me a loser based on my request for an alarm clock?» I questioned wryly.

The boy didn't even bother to look at me. «Yes.» he said without emotion or hesitation.

«Near…» Roger intervened halfheartedly.

«Did you own an alarm clock on your second day here, huh, did you!?» I questioned venomously.

«Yes.» the blank boy said again. His tone didn't vary in the slightest from the one he'd previously used. He reminded me of a broken record, or no, better, of one of those loquendo computer voices.

I stared at him.

«Did you bring it?» I questioned suddenly. The blank boy looked up from the ground in question. Funny. You couldn't tell if he was asking a question when he spoke, yet you could know that that was the case if he bothered to look at you.

«The alarm clock!» I cleared «Did you bring the alarm clock here to the orphanage!?»

The seemingly emotionless infant, who was already studying the ground again, answered immediately, without missing a beat.

«No, I was given it once I arrived here.»

What a strange way of using the language, I thought. It sounds much more natural to say "it was given to me".

But then I registered what the blank kid had actually said. I turned towards Roger. Why had this boy gotten an alarm clock while I hadn't? I was about to demand an answer, yet the boy himself spared me the trouble.

«You're a loser.» he repeated.

«And you have a superiority complex!» I retorted snarkily.

«As Roger said, the greater your test scores, the more material possessions you get. These tests also include the selection test that took place before you entered the institution. Given the fact that Roger refused to give you something as simple as an alarm clock, I am guessing that your scores must have been quite pitiful. Hence why you're a loser.»

Bitter silence followed after that. At least, bitter on my part, the boy didn't seem particularly shaken.

A while passed and I had yet to move from my spot next to the door.

Roger sighed.

«Look… Jacket, you will likely be given an alarm clock along with clothes on Sunday…»

That was my final offer. I wasn't happy with the prospect of having to wait until Sunday to get an alarm clock, (it was Monday) but alas, I had no other option. The fight was over.

Turning around, I promptly slammed the door in their faces. And with that parting guesture, I made my way back into room 158, my bedroom.

« _Fui Teufel_!» I exclaimed as I threw myself onto the bed.

Who does that blank kid think he is?! I though angrily, no, he isn't even a boy, he's just a... blank creature! Seriously, what's with him, anyway? I was fuming. He was so… egocentric! A self-centered git!

I scowled.

Blank.

Creature

B.

C.

That's it. Since he really was just a robot, and I didn't even know his name, that's the best he'd get from me.

BC.

People here just named each other with letters, didn't they?

Well letters they'd get.

From that moment on, I decided to label the boy I'd just met, as "B.C.", aka the black creature. Of course, this took place solely in my mind.

Basically, it was my way of letting out my anger against the stupid boy (BC) without really getting into trouble (I had noticed that Roger seemed to treat BC with favoritism).

It's a really good way of saving your pride cowardly, you should try it.

Anyway, after a while more of fuming and raving about BC, my mind slipped into a more productive activity: how to get the stupid alarm clock. Or at least, a replacement for one until Sunday.

Obviously, a real alarm clock was out of the question, as taking it from someone else could correctly be labeled as "stealing", and stealing was generally punished by all societies, (surely Wammy's House wasn't an exception) thus, resulting into unpleasant experiences which I'd prefer to avoid.

But getting back on topic, I'd decided that if I couldn't be given an alarm clock, I'd have to make myself one.

Don't get me wrong. I was not talking about creating some kind of super advanced machine, but I was sure there was something else that could be done.

I had something entirely different in mind: Remembering that a watch can base on many different ways to tell the time (it was clear that the most effective ones were the digital and analogue watches), I had the sudden idea of building a watch of a different kind, such as an hour glass.

And amongst them all, a sun watch would probably result more easy to build, and thus was my option of choice.

But before all of that, I needed to know where exactly the sun would rise, or in other words, I needed to find the East.

And to find the east...

I'd need a compass.

Of course, asking Roger was out of the question (if he didn't give me an alarm clock it was clear that I wasn't going to get a compass any time son), so I'd need to find another way of getting a magnetic compass.

In retrospect, I now wonder why I didn't simply ask someone to tell me where the cardinal points were, but oh well...

What happened next was all quite strange. I believed to have heard somewhere that a compass could more or less be made manually, and thus went to the library in order to find out exactly how to do so.

To my great delight, I found a book labeled "Basic Magnetism Principles" which had exactly what I was looking for: magnetic compasses.

As it turns out, Basic Magnetism Principles was long, boring and quite useless. It carried on and on, explaining unnecessary things. I had to go through a magnetic compass' history, its later developments, the history of its non-navigational uses, modern compasses, usage of a magnetic compass, and finally, construction of a magnetic compass.

My turtle-worthy reading-speed didn't help much either.

And even less so with a book in English.

But never mind, I finally knew how to proceed in order to build a compass.

First, I was in need of some materials, namely:

-A metal sewing needle

-A magnet

-A piece of cork

-Scissors

-A wide cup/drinking glass/bowl

-Water

Collecting most of them wasn't too difficult. I'd get a bowl with water in it once in the dining room, and I made sure to take a pair of scissors and a piece of cork from the kitchen.

I cut off about one quarter inch of the cork from one of the ends, making a small cork disk that was about one-quarter-inch tall.

Now, the only things left were the two most important ones, the magnet and the metallic needle.

I found a magnet in the form of a white board eraser that could be magnetically attached to its surface.

And with that, the only thing left was the needle.

But finding it turned out to be the most difficult task out of them all. As much as I looked and searched for it, no needles were found, and in the end, I was just tired, in a bad mood and without needle.

I dejectedly walked towards the dining room to get my dinner, although quite frankly, I had completely lost any notion of time and it wouldn't surprise me in the least if I had to go to bed without eating.

As it turns out, I was in luck.

Even though it was already past six once I arrived at the dining room, I still was able to have dinner. Apparently, unlike breakfast and lunch, dinner was available during a one-and-a-half-hour time span, which meant that it ended at six thirty, and not at six like I'd first thought. Consequently, there was still food once I arrived at the dining room. Even if not particularly appealing (the best pieces were taken first), I took as much food as I could.

That evening, I ate like there was no tomorrow.

But hey, I hadn't had anything to eat since yesterday's meager sandwitch at lunch!

Finally, once I was done wolfing down my dinner, my brain decided to take control over my stomach and notify me of something highly interesting.

In the table next the window, more or less five meters away from myself to the left, sat BC who seemed to be building a structure solely made up of needles, which resembled the tween towers of New York City. BC would clearly not share any of his needles, and at first sight, taking one without BC noticing seemed to be impossible, as the whole structure would fall apart. But the construction was only half way finished, which meant that BC must have had more needles somewhere else which could easily be taken by me.

End of my inner epiphany.

I kept observing BC and his needles.

He sat at what was probably the biggest table of the dining room, yet there was no one else sitting by his table. It was completely occupied by the needle twin towers.

Now, I didn't need to be a genius to deduce that transporting that structure would be close to impossible, so BC must have somehow managed to build it between five (dining room is opened) and ten past six (current time).

He had to have brought some kind of container with needles in it, I was sure. But where was it? I stood up and got closer to BC under the pretext of putting my tray away. And then... The it was! A few inches to BC's left, stood a white box out of which BC drew a needle. Bingo.

I needed to somehow get a needle from there without BC noticing.

Now... How on earth was I going to pull that off?

Well, first of all I needed a distraction. Distracting BC was the key. And since I didn't have any friends, (Which I absolutely could go without!) it would have to be myself who distracted him.

If I positioned myself correctly, I could maybe manage to draw all of his attention to my face (if I managed to get him to look at me, that is) and meanwhile take one of the needles with my left hand without him realizing it. There were too many needles in the box for him to notice the lack of one anyway.

So I put my plan into action. I innocently strode towards BC, my hands deep in my pockets, my gaze on the ceiling.

I stopped two or so steps behind him.

«What do you want,» came his passive voice. It didn't even sound like a question. Right then did I first realize something: at the time I'd heard Roger and BC talking through the door, they spoke in English, but from the moment on in which I'd entered the principal's office, both of them had switched onto German. And they both had spoken so flawlessly that I hadn't even noticed the change of language.

And right now, BC had spoken in German as well, which meant that he was much more aware of his surroundings than he let on. He knew that someone had been standing behind him and he knew that it was me. Getting a needle from him could prove to be a problem.

«Hmm...» I hummed a bit trying to seem unfazed by his harsh demeanor. «You know, you claim to be very smart, but... I don't think so. »

BC regarded me from the corner of his eye yet didn't say anything.

But that was more than enough. I knew I had his attention. So I proceeded to explain,

«In case you haven't read them, there are some specific language rules which you clearly and blatantly ignored right now.»

BC eyed me motionlessly.

«Oh, is that so...» Again, he didn't sound surprised, nor like he was asking a question. In fact, he looked downright uninterested, as though I was just a nuisance to him.

«Yeah. It is so, Mr. omnipotence.»

By the time I'd said that, he had already turned towards me completely. He was facing me now. Perfect, things were going just as I wanted to!

BC's left hand rose upwards. I tensed. What was he up to now? But surprisingly, he was simply used it to twirl a strand of his white hair between his fingers.

I regarded him calculatingly. When should I make my move? Maybe if I stepped a few meters to the right… But no, perhaps it'd be a better idea to-

«Well?» Eh? I turned towards the source of the sound. BC's charcoal eyes were fixed on me. I got the message. I was supposed to say something.

«Yeah, well, as I was saying, you apparently don't know some basic rules of pronunciation, because you don't use them. »

«You already told me that.»

I glared.

«So what if I did?»

«I hate people who repeat themselves. Specially those who pontificate. And above all, those constantly making ultracrepidarian remarks.»

I looked at him strangely.

«Well, in case you haven't noticed, I don't care about all that!»

BC eyed me coldly.

«And I don't care that you don't care.»

Pf.

«Whatever.» I needed more time! A long speech would do… I hoped. «As I was saying, you don't respect some very basic grammatical rules when you speak. Yet you act like you are the smartest child in the whole orphanage, so... Who's pontificating now?»

My trademark self sufficiency smirk made its way onto my lips. Of course, at the time I didn't know that BC was actually considered the smartest person in the orphanage…

«You are.» BC's voice of steal cut through my phantom feeling of victory like a knife through butter.

«I am pontificating?»

«Yes.»

I sighed. Maybe it was about time to maneuver my way over to the needles...

I slowly and carefully started stretching out my left hand in an angle in which BC wouldn't see it (my body was placed before it, effectively covering it).

«So...» BC's voice brought me back to earth, «what is it that makes you claim that I am in fact speaking incorrectly, if I may ask.»

Funny, no question seemed to have come from him.

«You know... a basic rule of intonation says that statements are normally said with falling intonation, while questions' intonation usually rises at the end.

«When someone asks a question with falling intonation, the person who asks the questions is fairly sure that

the statement in the question is correct.

While when the intonation is raising at the end, the person who asks the question is much less sure that the statement they are asking about is correct. But you do none of them. Your voice does neither rise nor fall when you speak. And even less so when you are asking a question.»

I paused. What I had just said was not exactly true, but hey, BC didn't know that so...

«Wrong.» Oh. Well whatever. «What you just said is a part of the rule applied in English tag questions, not in German usual questions. Therefore, your argumentation is unbiased, and thus is ultimately wrong.»

I rolled my eyes.

«Yeah, you may have a point there, but still-» I started twisting my arm towards the needle box- «you can't deny the fact that your voice does not receive any pitch alterations when you're talking! You speak in a complete monotone—» I slowly stretched my arm out, «—and even if what I mentioned right now were an English grammar/pronunciation rule, I am positive that there must be rules equivalent or similar to that one in almost every other spoken language, which of course includes German, as it has the same roots as English.» _A little more... and those needles would be mine!_ «Therefore, it's still the same: you are disregarding the speech and intonation rules of the German language and thus do not speak correctly, or at least not like a native person would. I'd say it's safe to assume that the same goes for your English and any other language that you may know, which means, that you don't speak any language correctly! HA!» _Oh c'mon! I was already touching the box of needles. I will... Just... Take one and-_

Cold.

That's the first thing that came to mind. My wrist was cold.

My gaze trailed downwards.

«I'd recommend you refrain from touching my belongings. »


	5. A classy vampire

_Chapter Five_

Who would have thought that BC had such a steely grip? I obviously hadn't as I was now prey of it. But that didn't mean that I was going to avoid using violence either. I never really cared about how things were done, the only thing that mattered was that they _were_ done.

So I did the only thing that came to mind: I yanked.

And it worked. More or less. I guess BC had been expecting me to try and use physical force to free myself, but he obviously hadn't predicted me to meanwhile use my other hand to snatch a few of the needles from their box. He copied my actions and used his free hand to try and take them back. He almost succeeded. But he was a bit too slow. I saw his hand coming at my own and thus was quick enough to take my own out of reach, although he still managed to brush (racer forcefully) against it, resulting into some of the needles to fall off, or to my great dismay, to bore into my skin. And boy did it hurt!

In a quick burst of pain, I erratically jumped backwards and away from BC and the box of needles.

 _Stop the pain!_ My hand…! It had to be healed!

But still, even back then, I was a very self-sufficient person, and I simply loved to rub my victory in the loser's face, (which I now considered to be BC).

So instead of listening to the pounding pain in my hand, I stopped before reaching the door of the dining room and rose a needle up in the air, staring into BC's direction. He didn't say anything, but I know that he didn't like my gesture. Who's the loser now, huh ? I grinned as was a habit when wining and marched out of the room. As soon as I was sure BC couldn't see me anymore, I started running towards the nurses office.

That somehow felt familiar.

On the go, I stole a glance towards my hand. It was covered in scarlet blood. I screamed in a burst of panic. It stung a lot. And there was so much blood…!

I started waving my hand around (effectively spreading bits of blood around the floor) and screaming like my life was on the line.

«Oh Jesus, Jacket, what seems to be the problem!?» Roger suddenly arrived out of thin air.

I stopped screaming. I suddenly changed my mind about it, screaming was for weaklings. So instead, I bit back the pain in my hand and stared up at Roger apathetically.

«My hand happened to have… received a few… pricks.» I mumbled. Roger stared at it in horror.

He grabbed me by my shirt's collar and quickly dashed off to the nursery. Quite an accomplishment for his age, I must say. That running power was probably the source of his super invisible appearances. In any case, I soon found myself in the nursery, surrounded by a panicked Roger and a screeching nurse named Aurora, who took it upon herself to scold me for my wounds, as though I'd secretly been plotting how to get hurt and thus make her work for an extra five minutes. People really are inventive sometimes. What a pity that Mello couldn't see my hand like this. I rejoiced in picturing the aghast face Mello would make if that event was to occur. But to my dismay, it did not. Instead, I got a bothersome rock of a bandage wrapped around my right hand, and some more scolding on Roger's part, who seemed to believe that the nurse hadn't lived up to her reputation as a professional nagger.

Of course, I on my part countered Roger's harangues with tirades of my own, relating the fatal consequences not owning an alarm clock until Sunday would imply. I think that's why I was able to leave so early.

In any case, by the time I left the nursery, the pain in my hand had been reduced to mere numbness, and so, with my mind back on track and BC's needles in hand, I disposed to build the compass once and for all.

To work, I needed to find a quiet spot where I wouldn't be bothered anymore. After a while of searching, I settled down under a table in an empty room. There was a white tablecloth spread over it, which would impede anyone to discover me underneath. Just what I wanted. Besides, I'm five. Us children _like_ that kind of stuff.

And exactly _that_ would be a serious drawback for me in the coming months. Because children at Wammy's were no children. They were ominous creatures, raised to become machines, cold but efficient. With no self-esteem and no independence. Children who picked on others to reinforce their own talents, —or cover up the lack of them.

And without more preambles, I summoned Basic Magnetism Principles to mind.

So… First of all I was supposed to magnetize BC's needle. I took one of the needles I'd borrowed and quickly wiped any traces of blood away from it. Now to magnetize it…

« _GASP. Are you a vampire_?»

I jumped out of my skin. Literally. I knocked my head against the table's ceiling.

«Yeah. You definitely look like a vampire. But a clumsy one.»

I stared at the boy who now sat in front of me. What was I supposed to say? What had he said? I did my best to translate what he'd just told me. Had he just questioned whether I was an… uˈ.pɨrʲ? (By the way, an uˈ.pɨrʲ or упырь is like a ghoul/vampire for Russian people). Was this supposed to be some kind of pretending game? Was he inviting me to play uˈ .pɨ rʲ with him?

I tried to recall anything that might come in handy in order to determine my next course of action.

Uˈ.pɨrʲ were supposed to be frightening, right?

«Buu…» I mumbled in the end.

The boy just stared at me.

« _I thought vampires were more classy. They don't just pop up and say "bu"_ »

Ah?

You must know that at this stage of my life, I did not yet speak English very well.

«I apologi-es» I mumbled. « You would please teach definition of _pop up_?»

« _Are you stupid or something_?» The boy was thoroughly amused. _«Do you not know what a phrasal verb is?»_

I didn't really, but I understood about enough not to tell that to the boy.

«Why your are reasons and suspect myself of becoming an uˈ.pɨrʲ?»

I had in fact tried to ask him exactly what had made him label me as an uˈ .pɨ rʲ . But I guess it didn't turn out too well. I shook my head.

The boy just stared at me like I was crazy.

« _GASP. What?»_

«Please, you forget easily we conversation that we just tell, yes?»

The boy just scrunched his nose like he'd just smelled something stinky.

« _Eek. You talk like an armor! Not a vampire!»_ He stuck out his tongue at me. He suddenly smirked at me tauntingly. « _Dumbass. That's what you are_!»

I rose a brow in confusion.

«DuMb-ass? Explanation you can make?»

« _Are you for real? You don't know what a dumbass is?_ » The boy started laughing.

«No. Please make a explanation»

« _To put it simply so you can understand, a dumbass is like… a pretty obtuse person_.»

Say what?

I just stared at him without comprehending. Didn't pretty mean beautiful? A dumbass was someone beautiful? But he said, that a dumbass is like a pretty obtuse person, so maybe he meant that a dumbass likes beautiful people? And obtuse? What was that supposed to mean?

According to what I'd read in the German - English Dictionary , the definition of obtuse was the following: (1) Of an angle : exceeding 90 degrees but less than 180 degrees. (2) Having an obtuse angle an obtuse triangle : Rounded at the free end.

The boy in front of me seemed to sense my confusion and tried to clear it out.

« _Basically, it's a term used to express a low viewpoint of an individual's cognitive capabilities.»_

Cogni- what?

I cocked my head to the side. What did he just say?

Express, as in a train?

And term, as in a school years semester or something?

So a dumbass was an express train in which beautiful people traveled? But what did obtuse angles and semesters have to do with anything?

«Why you tell what I am a locomotive?» I questioned.

The boy blinked, and then he started laughing, no, cackling, tremendously. As though something very amusing had happened. Which it had, not that I knew it. I forced a smile as well and chuckled a bit, clueless as to why we laughed.

« _You really are a dumbass_!» The boy finally exclaimed between fits of laughter.

I still didn't know what that word really meant. I think that it must have reflected upon my eyes, because the boy added,

« _If you still don't get what it is, why don't you ask… Roger? He's just next door. He's bound to know since he has so much experience in that apartment._ »

And he started laughing again. Unfortunately (for me, not for him), back when that happened, I was still terrible at reading people, failing to see the obvious dark glint in his eye, and so I decided to follow the boy's _kind_ suggestion. Not only that, I even thanked him for his great idea.

I found Roger talking with a few more children in the room next door.

«Mr. Roger» I questioned in German, (thank God). Everyone's gazes turned to me. Somehow, whenever I received so much attention, I always felt an urge to smile, or even laugh.

«Can you tell me what a dumbass is? » upon the look he gave me, I tried to explain myself, «I mean, _you_ know what that means, right?»

Silence.

I promise I asked the question with the best intention in the world, but apparently Roger didn't take it that way. Those who understood even a tad bit of German started to laugh, and I was pulled along and laughed with them. Although once again, I didn't realize what I was laughing about, Or more precisely: who.

Roger's face was now beat red out of anger. His lips were pursed into a fine line and his eyes were narrowed into slits.

«Come to my office.» He said. (More accurately, demanded). I followed, clueless as to what had happened, as followed many snickers and giggles.

And that's the story of how I got punished in my second day at the orphanage.

I was supposed to clean the whole house next Sunday.

Magnificent.

Sunday was apparently Rogers favourite day or something.

After getting scolded at by Roger for the third time in a day, I decided that it would be best not to show my face around the orphanage anymore.

So this time I went to my room, not under some table, (I don't yet understand why the table in the first place) and successfully finished the compass.

And after finally finishing it an finding out that my room faced West, I realized that that was absolutely irrelevant, and that I could have speared myself a lot of trouble if I hadn't been so intent on building the stupid compass.

I suppose it would have been useful if my room faced East, I pondered. That way, when I got up, I could have seen the sunrise and known approximately what time it was. But no. It was still late January and the sun didn't rise until much time after breakfast.

So the whole compass thing had been completely in vain.

I sighed in defeat. It had all just been a waste of time and energy. _Not to mention,_ I thought, _that I don't yet know how I will be able to get up on time for breakfast._

After a while of mourning, I resolved to do something more productive and walked out of the room. Now, where could I look? I started searching around the house, which took me quite a while. In the end, by the time I'd finally located my target, it was already past eight.

I now stood in a large room, with large windows. I looked around. The room was fairly clean, and it hadn't much furniture in it. Yet it was still jammed.

But not with furniture. Neither with people, nor anything of the sort. It wasn't really filled up with objects of practical use either. Well, every object has been created for something and thus has a use. That's always the first step in any technological process, to find a purpose, but anyway, I'm getting off track here. In any case, I entered the room, and swiftly made my way around its many objects, careful not to touch any. I slowly approached the centre of the room without making any sound (I was bare feet) and cautiously crouched down.

I fished BC's needles out of my pocket and carefully counted them. One. Two. Three. Four. Five.

I had previously wiped any traces of blood off and had even cleaned all of them using soap. I slowly stretched my right hand out, and carefully placed the first needle on the top of one of the Twin Towers.

The needle Twin Towers.

Yeah, that's right. I'd snuck into BC's bedroom . If it could be called that. It was a bit too enormous for my taste.

In any case, I had no bad intentions. I just wanted to give BC his precious needles back. So, since he was nowhere to be found, I had simply come here.

I placed the second needle on the other Twin Tower. And then the third on top of the former tower. Number four was sure to follow.

But what to do with the last an fifth needle? Which of the towers would be given number five? It didn't make sense. The numbers were uneven. They didn't fit. But then I remembered. One of the towers, the one on the left, if you looked at them with the Statue Of Liberty opposite to them, had something like a rod on top. So I stretched my left arm towards the tower on the left with the needle I had left gripped in it. You should know that I was left-handed, albeit due to my bandaged left hand, I had no way of using it. But humans have two hands with five fingers in each. That's where the other hand comes in. Unfortunately, that other hand was trembling quite a bit. I guess that explains what happened next. As soon as the last needle had touched the Twin Tower on the left, its structure fell and crumbled into pieces, conveniently taking the other one along.

And that was it.

AUTHOR'S NOTE:

Hello~ I hope you liked this chapter. I know it's kind of weird, but it's important. Everything is important.

And okay, let's be frank. I didn't exactly laugh like a madman when I wrote this, but I did laugh a little. I don't know, but I've the sneaking suspicion that you guys did not really laugh. At all.

Now, I'm not saying that my story is supposed to be like a gag manga, (I'm just not suited for jokes) but it'd be nice if you gave me a few tips on how to create amusing scenarios. Just for the sake of it. But of course, no laughing at other's expenses. That's the only thing I absolutely don't want to happen in my stories.

Oh, and one more thing. FOR ANYONE WHO KNOWS OR CARES:

In chapter two, I recall that Roger mentioned that Mello was almost seven years of age, meaning, his birthday would be coming up soon.

But I also said, in this chapter, that it's still January.

Now, I don't recall Death Note ever mentioning Near or Mello's date of birth, but, apparently, Mello's birthday takes place on December 15th, and he was born in 1989. (Sources wiki/Mello)

But please, ignore this fact. In my story Mello was born in February.

I hope you can live with it.

That's all.

Says HUZZAClonya96


	6. Her Higness

_Chapter Six_

I just stood there and stared in horror at what had happened.

Had I been a bit older, I would have waited for BC to arrive and then properly apologize for my actions, trying to explain the situation. Or I would have maybe tried to fix my mistake by helping rebuild the needle Twin Towers.

But I did nothing of the sort. I just left, the fifth and final needle still in hand.

I quickly made my way back to my room and closed its door behind me in a swift motion. Then, I sat down on the bed and contemplated what I should do next. With a sigh, I crawled into my bed and took the dictionary from underneath of it. I skimmed through its pages until I found what I wanted.

 _Dumbass: Derogatory terminology usually employed to refer to a person who is not very bright._ I sighed. I really was a dumbass. Why on earth had I asked Roger that question?

What had possesed me to think it was a good idea in the first place?

I scowled. Stupid me. I stared at the dictionary in irritation. Even if I knew some of the words, in a real conversation I was completely lost. I didn't know how to build sentences, what the verbal tenses were, or, if I did understand the words spoken, which of their many meanings was the one to be applied to the context.

But I needed to learn English. It was imperative.

So I got out of bed and hushed out of my room and into the library. Once there, I took as many English grammar books as I could carry and quickly dashed back to my room.

I put them all on the floor and lied down next to them.

I started reading.

(…)

I sighed. My rips and neck hurt. Figures. I'd been laying around on the ground for hours. But I had the feeling that I now understood everything a bit better.

I got up and stretched. What time was it? I felt terribly tired. And hungry. I needed to know the time. So I resolved to go to the only place where I knew that there was a clock: the library. I quietly walked around the halls of Wammy's House, just like I'd done the night before. But it felt like that had been a long time ago. It hurt when I thought that less than three days ago, I'd still had friends to play with, friends who spoke my language and who didn't call me a _dumbass_.

I sighed once again. _I'm so tired…_ I thought as I hushed up some stars. I yawned. There was a large window at the end of the staircase. I blinked and rubbed my eyes as I yawned again. I couldn't see the moon outside. Why? Was it new moon? I shrugged my shoulders and yawned. I kept walking. In order to avoid getting lost, I'd memorized the number of turns I had to do to get from my room to the library, dining room or Roger's office. Those were my reference points. But that night, my mind was too tired to even register that I was supposed to try and follow a specific pattern to lead me to the library. So I just stumbled in a comatose fashion through the deserted corridors of Wammy's House. I lost any notion of time, and simply walked around aimlessly.

At some point I got to the library.

 _Why am I here?_ I dazedly wondered. _Oh, right. The time…_

I stared at the clock. I kept staring at it. What's the time?

 _Oh, right… I have to interpret what the clock's pointers' position means_. I yawned. One pointer rested at six. The other rested at five. I blinked. Which one meant what again?

Was it 5:6 or 6:5? Oh… wait… one pointer was for… hours. And the other one for minutes. And the pointer for

minutes –I yawned– was supposed to represent minutes in

groups of… five… right? Then the time was…

Six twenty five…

wait…

Maybe it was the other way?

Yes… it was the other way because… the larger needle…

it represented the minutes right?

So the time is… Five thirty…

I concluded listlessly.

Breakfast was held at... Six, was it? Or maybe half past six? I yawned.

«I'm so tired,» I mumbled. I couldn't go back to my room because I'd fall asleep and miss breakfast again if I did that. So what could I possibly do?

I trudged towards the dining room. Upon arriving, I noticed that its door was still closed. I sat down on the ground and leaned against it.

A while later, I woke up to shuffling sounds. _Huh? What's going on?_ I rose my head and peered in front of me. The first students came trudging down the hall, approaching me. (Or more precisely, the door I was leaning on). I on my part feigned to be asleep. I don't really know why.

Maybe if I hadn't been _asleep_ I would've stood a chance at making friends? But well, I was thickheaded and feigned unconsciousness for whatever reason, and there went my chances… If only things could turn out like back at Santa Porta's…

But of course, nothing could ever be so easy. You see, today, I know just who exactly it was that approached me back then, but at the time, I had no clue. Still, since it'd be confusing to narrate the dialogues without knowing the interlocutors' names, I'll just call them by their names as though I'd already known them. Anyway, back to the story:

I heard a few pairs of steps approaching me.

I slid one of my eyes open, just about enough to see without being discovered (as long as there was some distance between us). I was able to make out five people approaching me, their attention clearly focused on my (apparently sleeping) persona.

Rinda and Halitus giggled. Echolalia observed the scene.

«What an idiot!» Rinda exclaimed in English. «Is he stupid? » I think she was referring to me.

«Oh, just drop it, man.» Tib (aka. tibialoconcupiscent) mumbled, «Some people are tired y'know?»

«I totally get you dude.» Z said. «Zombies like me should be sleeping as soon as the sun rises!» he's the boy I'd met under a table. If I hadn't been sleeping , I would've punched him right in the face.

«Does it look like we care?» Rinda snapped.

«Now, now. Let's calm down.» Echolalia grinned. «Anyone know who this…» she vaguely gestured towards me «…kid is?»

Z nodded.

«He's a dumbass vampire. I met him under a table.»

«Oh! I know! He's the one who insulted Roger yesterday, right?» Rinda snickered at her own remark. «What a brat.»

«Right » Halitus agreed. «I hope he's not in H.»

Rinda grinned cruelly.

Echolalia flipped her hair behind her.

«Hate to say this,» Tib threw in, «but Hal's right. Rumour has it he's gotten the worst score in the history of Wammy's House. One more question wrong, and he wouldn't be here.»

«Ha.» Rinda chimed in. «Lucky brat! Just look at him, happily drooling around like that. If I had a score like his, I'd be doing some serious studying!» I am not drooling.

Z glared. «Like I'd believe that! You're not even a _Head_.»

«What did you just say?! I dare you repeat that!»

«I said that you're not even a...!-»

Z and Rinda's bickering was interrupted by the opening of the dining room's doors.

«Well whatever!» Z said. «I'm totally going first.» He pushed past Rinda and Halitus, straight towards the open doors. But he was forcefully pushed aside. By my left brick of a bandaged hand.

Z was so shocked that he couldn't even begin to understand what was happening.

«I'm first,» I told him coldly. «Remember that, _dumbass_.» And with those parting words, I launched myself into the dining room.

Quickly, I approached the buffet table. There were a few sloppy croissants filled up with chocolate, and also milk and porridge.

For such a preppy institution, that was quite… moderate.

At the time, I'd never tasted porridge before, and frankly speaking, it didn't look particularly appealing.

Do you know the saying "Never do to others what you'd rather they don't do to you"?

No?

Well me neither.

I recalled how Mello had taken all of the chocolate mousse from me, and I myself was planning to do the exact same thing to whoever wanted chocolate croissants. But I chose my target wrongly.

No one cares if the death last of the bunch doesn't get chocolate mousse, (or in other words, me,) but, as you and I both know, things are sightly different if the one who is affected by this is Echolalia.

I was blissfully shoving croissants onto my plate when Echolalia decided to approach me.

Her hazel eyes locked with mine. She crouched down to be at eye level with me.

«Hey,» she greeted as she smiled cheerfully. «What's your name? Your alias, I mean. Well, you get what I mean!»

I smiled back. She actually liked me! I eagerly tried to successfully decipher what she'd said and come up with a reasonable answer.

«I am Jacket! » I said happily. «It's cool to make an acquaintance with you!» Yes, I'm aware. My English was awesome like that.

«Jacket?» She giggled. «You sure are creative, Jacket!»

I smiled happily.

«I'm begging you to differ!» I responded cheerfully.

She giggled again.

«I'm Echolalia. If you want, we could be friends?»

«Yeah! Yeah! It will be very well!»

I was so happy. Making friends was easy after all!

«So… Do you want to come and eat with me and my other friends?» Echolalia asked.

«Oh?» Did she just ask me…? «Of course!»

«You still need to get some milk, right?»

«Huh? No it is trivial! I will not be in need of the milk!»

Echolalia smiled.

«Oh, don't worry. You know what? If you want, I could bring your plate to my table so you don't have to carry so many dishes.»

Processing…

«Oh! Yes! Yes! That will be great!»

Echolalia smiled softly as I handed her my plate.

«Then, I'll see you in a sec, 'kay?»

«Perfect! »

After I'd gotten all of the milk, I quickly made my way towards Echolalia's table. I smiled and said:

«Hello!»

Echolalia turned around to look at me. Her kind hazel eyes skimmed over me for a moment, then, she turned towards the other integrants of her table.

«Meet my new croissant dispenser, Jacket.» she said mockingly.

And that's what made me break. The sound of it again. Laughter. Mocking laughter. And I was the cause of it.

 _Why?_

Everyone laughed. Abderian laughter suffocated me. My lungs felt tight, I couldn't breathe. If I did, I… I'd burst. I think I started hyperventilating at some point. I felt tears crawling into my eyes, blurring my vision. I didn't want to cry. But regardless of what I did or didn't want, I ended up weeping loudly, object of more and more laughter. I felt miserable. Everyone laughed. Everyone laughed. At me. About me. Everyone laughed. I couldn't think anything else. Stop it! Them! Stop laughing! You! Stop them! Stop crying! Stop it!

But it didn't stop.

 _My croissant dispenser._

I sobbed.

A shrill sound saved me. Heh. Saved by the bell.

Children started to pour out of the dining room, leaving me alone, _finally_ stopping the laughter.

I sighed brokenly (which was a bit difficult between hiccups).

I finally started walking towards the door, my gaze on the ground. But then, all of a sudden, it slapped me right in the face. And not figuratively. Someone had slapped me. I heard laughter. I looked at my aggressor. It was none other than Mello. My cold hand hushed up to my burning face. It was wet, and everything was blurred. And then, all my helplessness was gone.

Burning anger and hatred boiled up in me.

I don't remember clearly what happened afterwards, but the result spoke on its own. Surprisingly, Mello looked worse for wear than I did. But then again, don't judge a book by its cover. Truth be told, I had used my claws—sorry, fingernails,—to fight, so imagine how Mello's face looked like at the end. Blood usually made things seem very dramatic, but quicks in the shin can hurt a lot more.

However, it was enough. Mello eventually left while crying out profanities.

Meanwhile, I fell back onto the floor. I think my nose was bleeding, or maybe it was my lip? I quickly went to the bathroom, all the while sobbing helplessly and drowning in a sea of self-pity.

That's something I should get rid of.

Wammy's House isn't a place for self-pity.

I quickly washed my face and went to the nurses office. Not to get my wounds healed, but rather because Vladislav had instructed Mello and I to meet him there.

Which we did, unfortunately. Just let me say this much: it wasn't a pleasant memory. Not at all.

I encountered Vladislav and Mello at the arranged place and time, and he led us to an empty room. It was in the lowest floor, an enormous space with only one round table in the middle.

Everything else wasn't there. Okay… that sounded weird. What I'm trying to say is: when you think of a classroom, you usually picture a room with many aligned tables and chairs, a blackboard and maybe a couple of instructive posters. And you may also picture children and teachers there. But this was nothing like it. Empty walls, closed windows, neat floor and only one table. Vladislav instructed Mello and I to sit down and then left the room, leaving us alone. Just what I wanted.

I tensed as the door closed behind Vladislav. It was just a reflex, but Mello clearly noticed. He smirked.

Afraid, are we?

That's what his eyes told me in a still taunt. And it was true. I was afraid. Just as Mello had predicted, I feared him. Why had he even attacked me? Even if not very tall, Mello's presence was tremendously imposing, and after our incident at the dining room (or more correctly, our incidents) it's understandable that he was my bête noire.

I was expecting Mello to beat me once again, yet no such thing happened.

Only silence reigned.

But silence and peace don't always go hand in hand. And believe me, silent struggles are always the most dangerous ones. Mello glowered at me. I looked away. I felt the overwhelming urge to hide under the table. I didn't. And thank God I didn't, because that would've meant getting my face into Mello's kicking range. Not an option. The shin was enough.

After a while, I heard steps outside of the room, walking through the corridor. Mello must've heard them as well, because he paused his glare towards me and instead stabbed the door with it. The door opened.

Vladislaw strode in in his signature cool fashion.

He was carrying a brown box between his right arm and his side. The left hand was occupied closing the door.

Vladislaw took his time.

He approached our table.

He placed the brown box on the floor.

He sat down in front of Mello and me.

He took a computer out of the box.

Then, two books.

He turned on his computer as he placed the two books on the table.

«Take them,» he said while typing something.

Huh? Was he talking to us?

Mello didn't wait to be asked twice, he took one of the books and then… the other. The one for me. He threw it at my face. I ducked out of reflex. The book feel onto the floor. Vladislav looked up. He stared at the book, then at me. He then pursed his lips into a thin line.

«Pick it up.» He commanded in Russian. I stood up and picked up the book. I sat back down.

«Open it.» Mello and I obeyed. «Read.» I didn't. Not that I didn't want to, but I'd never learned how to read the Cyrillic alphabet and thus couldn't read the book given to us. I was indignant. Wasn't this man supposed to teach us English?!

Of course I didn't voice my thoughts, rather kept them for myself. I stared at the book in front of me.

Конармия it read. From Исаак Бабель. I stared at the cover image. There were horses, and people on them. And they carried a red flag. I frowned. I turned the book around and stared at its back cover in hopes for a summary.

один из шедевров, созданных Исааком Бабелем, мастером короткой новеллы, проникновенным, тонким и ироничным рассказчиком, «отправленным в люди», как писал он в своей автобиографии, Максимом Горьким.

Well… that probably was a summary, but definitely not the one I was looking for. I sighed in despair. What now? I peered at Mello. He was concentrating on his book. It was a funny sight. His teeth were clenched and his index finger was vigorously clamped on the book, tracing a line trough letter rows and lines. Mello clearly knew how to read Cyrillic, even if not too fluently. I trained my gaze on Vladislav. Should I tell him…?

I should. But I didn't, because I was afraid. Afraid of what exactly, you ask? It was a foolish fear. I didn't want to hear from a teacher that I was stupid, analphabetic. I feared rejection.

Sometimes, people terribly dread a certain moment, yet when that moment comes they realize it isn't such a big deal.

I can't say that for me, though. The dreaded moment came, and it was horrible all the same: after two long hours of reading, Vladislav looked up from his computer.

«So… » he said calmly. «Are you done?»

What? Reading?

I stared up at Vladislav in shock as did Mello. Was he expecting us to finish such a huge book in such a short amount of time?!

Mello crossed his arms in clear disagreement. He scowled.

«How are you expecting me to finish this in five minutes?!» he said while gesturing to his book. «You're crazy! »

«Five minutes? » Vladislav repeated. «It'd be more accurate to say it's been two hours. »

Mello clenched his fists.

«So what? It's all the same! » he exclaimed.

Vladislav eyed him disparagingly for an instant and then turned his gaze towards me. «And you?» he said nodding towards me. In that very moment, I felt like a deer caught in headlights, scrutinized by Vladislav's and Mello's menacing eyes.

 _I haven't read anything_. That was my only thought. _I haven't read anything._

«Ha. I've seen him » Mello said pointing towards me. «He spent the whole time looking around! He didn't even glance at Red Calvary!»

I stared at Mello. From those two sentences, I learned three things.

1- Just as I'd originally thought that Mello was in fact a girl, Mello believed that I was a boy. Funny, right?

2-The book I was supposed to have finished reading by now was called Red Calvary.

3-Either Mello had eyes at the back of his head, or else I couldn't comprehend how he knew what I'd been up to all the while. Wasn't he reading his book?

While I was musing about these three events, Mello and Vladislav were still staring at me. Which I noticed a bit too late, I'm afraid.

«Oh is that so?» Vladislav questioned venomously.

I looked at him in fright and bit my lip. I had to answer! C'mon!

«…Yes.» I said quietly.

«And what exactly have you done during these _two_ hours?»

His voice was calm and his demeanor collected, yet… I somehow sensed that this was nothing but the calmness before the storm.

I suddenly became very nervous. I didn't know where to go with my hands or legs, what to look at, how to act…

I gripped my chair strongly. My knuckles were white.


	7. Doors that close and open

_Chapter Seven_

Attending to classes with Mello was clearly not a walk in the park, but Vladislav didn't exactly help making it easier.

And sucking up to him had obviously not worked. At first, I thought that he hated me specifically, but that wasn't the case. Mello was also antagonized by him. I guess that was something he and I had in common.

Vladislav made me stay every day after class so I would learn how to write Russian. The worst thing was, that I wanted to learn English and not Russian, and that Vladislav was supposed to be my English teacher, and that I already spoke Russian.

But alas, I was too scared of him to voice my thoughts.

So for the following five days, until Saturday, I went through an intensive learning how to read write Cyrillic course, which let me tell you, was not exactly my dream experience.

I had to work ten hours every day. Five before lunch and five after lunch.

Nice.

Right now, looking back on it, that doesn't really seem like so much work for me, but back then, I clearly wasn't used to how things were done in Wammy's House.

While I was busy dealing with Red Calvary and books alike, Mello started with English lessons, much to my dismay (and envy), which I'll grudgingly admit had the desired effect, as it only made me try that much more to learn cyrillic ASAP.

I'd been told that we wouldn't have classes on Sunday, and I hoped I'd be able to start English lessons on Monday.

Don't get me wrong, I'm no workaholic, and not exactly crazy for studying, but I really did want to learn how to speak English. (I kind of had—and still have—an extreme fear, almost a phobia, of not understanding what was going on around me, or more precisely, what was being _said_ around me. Not knowing made me panic, resulting into an extreme feeling of helplessness and anxiety growing inside me. I guess the Köhlers are responsible for that one.

So anyway, I really wanted Sunday to come, because I'd be getting a break from all the Cyrillic, along with new clothes and an alarm clock. (Although, unfortunately, I'd have to deal with Roger's punishment of cleaning the whole house.)

And, most importantly, I'd get a break from interacting with Mello and Vladislav too, which was more than I could have ever asked for (not really, but hey, it was still nice).

Oh, and I forgot to mention, in regards to sleeping issues, what I did in order to wake up on time for breakfast, (without my alarm clock and all) was to simply skip dinner and go to bed extremely early, thus waking up at four am or so, and spend the rest of the time till breakfast reading books in Cyrillic or English in order to get the feel of the language. As useful as grammar books might be, they really weren't my thing.

Finally, on Saturday evening, Vladislav declared that we'd be getting a break for the rest of the week, but that we still had to talk to Roger, apparently. So we (Mello and I) sauntered to the old man's office (Mello decided it was appropriate to barge into the principal's office without knocking) and, once inside, found ourselves face to face with BC. Or maybe it would be more accurate to say face to back because he wasn't really facing us. He was sitting on the floor, and, just like the other time we'd met, he seemed to be deeply absorbed in the action of counting the little dots on the pavement. Although I knew better. You can't imagine how utterly wonderful it was to meet him (please note there sarcasm), specially after the dining room incident on Wednesday. (I think I didn't tell you, estimated reader, but just so you know, on Wednesday at lunch, BC had taken the liberty of approaching my lone table, and, just when everyone in the dining room was looking at us, coldly accuse me of robbery and mutilation of his possessions.–Failing to mention that we were talking about a bunch of needles he'd probably get rid of anyway. As a result, the collective hate towards me was significantly boosted, giving people a reason to pick on me and despise me, which they did, needless to say.)

So, back to Mello and I barging into Roger's office, while I was marveling at the immeasurable pleasure of meeting BC again, and in Roger's office of all places, Mello didn't seem to have noticed him at all, or if he had, he didn't care enough to spare him a second glance.

«What do you want?!» he spat into Roger's general direction. He was speaking in Russian.

«Fabulous conversation starter,» I commented. Mello just glanced harshly at me for a moment, he must've been getting used to my snarky remarks. Too bad. Riling him up in front of Roger would've been very beneficial for making him help me out with the cleaning-the-whole-place-on-your-only-free-day punishment. But alas, either Mello saw trough it (quite likely, actually) or he was quitting his aggressive outbursts, which would be even better. (Read: dream on, Jacket.)

While Roger was busy saying that Mello should learn some manners and etiquette and whatnot, I walked over to BC and crouched down in front of him, observing him with intent.

Upon noticing my vicious stare, BC looked up and returned it. I scowled. _Damn him._ Because of him, I was forced to endure mockery and giggles over me yet again, along with a nonfunctional left hand, which didn't make the learning Cyrillic task any easier on me!

BC's lips curled upwards into a smirk upon noticing my sore expression.

 _He knew…!_

I bet he'd accused me in front of everyone on purpose as a form o payback for destroying his needle twin towers! He'd done it on purpose! That…! Damn him! That was ruthless!

I really wanted to punch him in the face at that moment, but I knew that given Roger's presence, that'd be a pretty stupid thing to do.

And he knew that I knew.

And the fact that I knew that he knew that I knew, just made me want to punch him that much more.

So I did. Between being toyed with and looked down on by this stupid kid, and getting an extra punishment, I'd gladly accept the latter. I already had to clean the trophy room, so how much worse could it get?

I punched BC square in the forehead, which was quite hard, so I ended up hurting myself as well.

I expected BC to at least cry out in pain, but he didn't.

«Is that all you can do?» he said in a bored voice. I guess he had an excessive amount of pride as well.

I knew I had hurt him, (there's no way a punch that strong in the head wouldn't) but it just drove me nuts that he wouldn't admit it! _Admit me as an equal._

Roger started to agitatedly try and talk me out of hurting "Near" (I suppose that was BC's alias), but I couldn't have cared less. I was about to repeat my act of violence, (raised fist and all) but was stopped by Mello. I glared at him. _Let go._ But he retorted my stare blankly with one of his own. I got the message. _I'm insane._ Starting a fight in front of Roger, hurting his favourite pupil of all people, and on top of that, with already cleaning duty for tomorrow?! Great. And if that wasn't worse enough, in Roger's eyes, Mello must be the peacemaker who wouldn't harm a fly.

Just what I needed.

I scowled and got up from my crouch in front of BC, in order to face Roger. His face was as pale as a chock.

«Jacket...» He started saying menacingly. I stared back at him in horror. His voice was calmer than what I would have fathomed possible given the fury in his eyes.

«Bring Near to the nursery. Now. We'll be having a chat later.»

 _No thank you._

I broke eye contact with him to look at BC. I showed him out of the room rather forcefully all the while glaring at whatever was in front of us and dragging my feet around.

«You're aware of the fact that I do not like to establish physical contact with other individuals, correct?»

«No I'm not.» I responded.

«I just told you.»

«Well, you could've spared yourself the trouble because I honestly don't care!» I hissed. I kind of sounded like a mad cat.

BC didn't miss a beat to answer.

«And I don't care that you don't care.»

I wrinkled my nose as though smelling something disgusting. I couldn't very well counter that I didn't care that he didn't care that I didn't care…

«You're such a snot!» I finally exclaimed.

BC didn't say anything after that.

Just as I was celebrating my victory in our verbal spar,

«The nursery is that way.»

I glared.

«I already knew that! I was just testing whether you'd notice! You know, with the blow to your head and all!»

«You mustn't worry about me, and rather about you, you've lost, after all, and I haven't.»

«Says who?»

«There's plenty of evidence to back up my statement, don't worry.»

«I'm not worrying! You should be, 'cause you might as well get a brain concussion by my fist! Then you wouldn't be so smart, now would you? »

«You are threatening me.»

«Oh, you don't say? We're here, by the way.»

«That's a given, you cannot grammatically say "we are there"»

I rolled my eyes.

«You _know_ what I meant!» I said as I opened the door to the nursery.

(…)

I closed the door to the _Community Room_ behind me.

«You're late.» Mello snarled.

«No I'm not!» I retorted. Mello just ignored me, (at least we were making progress).

«You've gotta help me with cleaning duty tomorrow. We're supposed to meet up at the trophy room.» he told me.

I gaped. Wasn't I already punished to clean the whole house for insulting Roger? The way Mello had phrased it invited to think that «It's your punishment for hitting that ghost guy.» (I assumed that with "ghost guy" he meant BC.)

In any case, this turn of events was quite beneficial for me. As it seemed, Roger had forgotten my previous punishment and had thus punished me again with the same thing, and on top of that, with Mello's assistance now. Although I wasn't too sure if I prefered it this way…

Mello snapped me out of my thoughts.

«So why'd you hit the wraith anyway?»

I blinked.

«That guy in white,» Mello cleared, «he didn't do anything to you, so why did you hit him?»

I snorted.

«That's none of your business.»

Mello glared.

«What did you say?!»

I really didn't feel up for a fight right then, so «why don't you simply tell me whatever Roger instructed you to?»

Mello rose a brow.

«I don't really want any more cleaning duties for the next week, at the very least.» I explained.

Mello nodded.

«So, out of curiosity, what did you do to earn yourself Roger's wrath?»

Mello shrugged his shoulders theatrically.

«That's none of your business~» he chirped with clear mockery in his voice.

Now where have I heard that before?

I rolled my eyes.

«Get to the point already, will you?»

Mello stuck out his tongue at me.

«Why should I?»

I sighed.

«Will you tell me? Please?»

«Fine.» Mello grumbled. «Apparently, each Sunday, there's some kind of meeting between all the people that conform one of the groups with the same first alias letter, they're called genus, by the way–»

«I knew that already!»

Mello ignored my interruption.

«He said that J genus will meet up in the algebra classroom this time. It'll be tomorrow right after breakfast.»

I nodded.

«Roger also told me to tell you to go to his office after the group meeting.»

«Okay… » I muttered, «thank you for going out of your way to tell me.»

«The sarcasm isn't lost on me.»

I chuckled.

«Whatever you say.»

I buried my hands deep inside my pockets and proceeded to walk out of the common room. With a last glance at Mello, I turned around and left.

AUTHOR'S NOTE:

To any of you who've already read some stuff of this story before this update, I'd really suggest re-reading it (of course, you're free to do as you wish) but I've been editing previous chapters and there have been done some major changes, so feel free to check it out!

And… what else did I want to say?

Oh, right.

What do you think about Near Mello? And Jacket? And Roger? And…?

Err… maybe it'd be better to just ask you for your general opinion about the characters?

So… hope I'll hear it real soon!

Bye!

Says

HUZZAClonya96


	8. The metaphorical lightbulb

_Chapter Eight_

I found myself cuddled up in a bed, presumably my own. I lay there for a while, musing about how to build a rocket most effectively and what type of personality was better suited for an astronaut (I had dreamt about the book I'd just read to practice Cyrillic, _The Last Martian_ , in which a boy decided to sneak into the spaceship of his father, was accidentally dropped off in Mars and ended up falling in love with an orange Martian woman who didn't correspond his feelings. He wanted to return to the Earth with the Martian so she'd see forests and seas and whatever else. And I hadn't gotten past that part.)

I wondered why people kept insisting on writing about love. What made this particular emotion so important? I mean, if you looked at it more in an academic way, I suppose love would be the feeling that induced human beings to reproduce, and then protect their offspring and clan or whatever. Assuring the specie's survival, basically.

But that really wasn't much of an excuse, because other emotions, such as fear or pain, were in charge of assuring our existence as well, only in a more direct way.

So why was love… so loved?

I yawned and slowly opened my eyes. I climbed out of bed and sat down on the cold pavement of my room. The sky was still dark. I estimated the time to be around three or four am.

The sun had to rise yet.

I started doing my morning stretches (yes, I didn't feel comfortable without doing them) and kept on absentmindedly chewing on my hair, (it was just long enough for that) a habit I'd picked up recently in substitution of the more painful lip-chewing. I suppose it was a repercussion of the tremendous stress I had to undergo since leaving Santa Porta's Kinderheim.

So… okay.

People loved love.

And their worst fear? Fear.

They despised who despised them.

And hated to be hated, yet hated those commonly hated.

I sighed.

Love was a positive emotion. That's why people liked it so much.

I had had the honor of experiencing it at Santa Porta's Kinderheim as well, even if not romantically.

But if you thought about it, all popular songs were about love.

 _Positive feelings, I guess,_ I thought as I finished my morning ritual. Love was unpredictable, which is what made it exciting.

I took _The Last Martian_ from underneath my bed and made my way to the library.

But still, having a partner, a person to love and who loves you back, may have been a positive and likeable experience, but I found quite a few drawbacks in it.

For instance, what if your partner fell in love with someone else? You couldn't really blame him or her, because, as I said before, love is something that cannot be controlled nor predicted. So if you were to blame your partner, then what? He or she, even if they hadn't necessarily been plotting to leave you behind, couldn't control or change his/her emotions.

I decided that, in the future, I'd probably marry some rich albeit dumb guy without getting emotionally attached to him, so if he left, I wouldn't feel sorry.

But wait.

Wasn't that a cruelty on my part?

I mean, wouldn't I be giving what I was hoping not to receive?

Maybe it'd be a better strategy not to marry anyone?

I briefly wondered if it was normal for children my age to be musing about the benefits of being involved romantically with someone else.

I sighed. I suppose Z was right in calling me a weirdo.

But the topic just felt strange. Was there ever anybody who loved me? Could I trust someone's word about it? Could I ever believe in somebody like that?

Z really was right in calling me dumb.

(By the way, Z, the boy I met under the table, was probably one of the only people at Wammy's called after his first alias letter. He'd apparently chosen Zombie as an alias, but everyone else refused to call him that.)

 _But then again, Z is a maniac who claims to be a brain-eating, decomposing, death creature._

He still had the nerve to say I am weird, though.

On second thought, I was barely five. Shouldn't children my age still believe in magic and monsters? In the end, Z's behaviour was just normal for children our age. _I_ was the strange one for questioning it.

After forming this thought, I suddenly became aware of the fact that I had long ago passed the library and was now somewhere else entirely. Don't ask where.

I was about to turn around when my eyes caught a glimpse of one of the doors on my right, or more precisely, the sign on it. Which said… ALGEBRA CLASSROOM.

How convenient.

I strode back to the library. 4:17 am. Still.

I submerged myself in _The Last Martian_ .

A while later, after having breakfast, I found myself in the algebra classroom. There were around a dozen people there. The atmosphere wasn't sticky though. As I looked around, I counted twelve people, (jackpot!) with me, thirteen.

There were a few tables placed in a corner of the room. I assumed the class had been cleared up for this meeting.

I was rather curious about what we'd be discussing.

I really hoped that the people here wouldn't start mocking me as well. Unfortunately, I spotted a few unwanted faces amongst the crowd of children. Although, children? Not really. Most of the integrants of J were a lot older than me. I walked over to the corner of the room with all the tables in it and was about to scoot down underneath one of them,

«Yo!» I heard someone say. I had hoped for non noisy people. My bad. I resumed my crouching down process,

«Sup'!» Oh, these people were truly and annoyingly noisy!

«Heeeeeeeyyy!» someone tapped me on the shoulder. I turned around. Wait… had they been so noisy just because I was blatantly (albeit not purposely) ignoring whoever wanted to talk to me?

Eh…

«Sorry, I was not knowing you were speaking to myself.»

«Oh!» The boy in front of me smiled cheekily and waved it off. « _Kein Problem!_ » he exclaimed.

I stared at him. Did he just speak in German?

«Ich bin Joke!» he said. I eyed him.

He'd introduced himself as Joke, all without making any grammar mistakes, but it was still nowhere close to BC or Roger's pronunciation.

Which led me to think that he wasn't particularly advanced in the language. I smiled at his effort to talk to me.

«Oh!» I said in a happy tone, «Du sprichst ja Deutsch!» (Oh! You speak German!). The boy in front of me grinned. «Das kannst du wohl laut sagen! » (Literal translation doesn't make sense, something like, Yeah! you bet I can!) I gave the boy, Joke, a warm smile.

«Das sind meinen Freunde» he told me whilst pointing at a few children behind him. (These are mine friends, first grammar mistake).

I smiled at them and waved.

«Eh… Ha-llo…» said one of them rather awkwardly. It was clear that the boy didn't know much German.

Then there was a girl who sent me a super cheerful smile. She winked and also chimed a _Hello!_ in my direction. Lastly, there was a boy who didn't bother to acknowledge my existence.

I took a look at the four in front of me.

The first boy, Joke, seemed to be very upbeat and happy. Maybe a bit shallow. I couldn't be too sure. He had dark brown hair and eyes, and seemed to insist on wearing a white toothed smile on his face that contrasted with his tanned skin. He was much taller than me.

My gaze trailed towards the girl next to him, the ultra cheerful one. She seemed to be around the same age as Joke, and had introduced herself as Jamaica. She had her blonde hair carefully braided into two very long pigtails placed on her shoulder blades. She was pale albeit with rosy cheeks.

Next to her, or actually, behind her, stood a very lanky boy with copper brown hair and, blue eyes that gazed at me nervously. He seemed to be quite timid and definitely not very good with German. Figuring out his name took me a while, but since I finally did, it's… eh… what was it again?

Oh well... let's just leave it at Lanky.

I tore my gaze off him and mustered my last acquaintance: the boy who'd blatantly ignored me.

He was somewhat shorter than the other three but still taller than me. In the whole while, he hadn't said a single world. His face was covered in freckles and he wore a navy colored cap. He didn't seem to like me too much. Or at all.

«This is Just.» Joke told me.

I stared at him in confusion.

«What is?» I really didn't see what exactly had ever been just in Whammy's . The only law was the law of the strongest. Or well, the smartest.

Joke chuckled.

«No, no. I mean, _he_ is!» He said pointing at the boy with the cap.

I didn't bother to waste a smile on him.

«Also… wie waren deine… eh… ersten Tage hier bei Wammy's?»

Joke questioned awkwardly, once more in German. He had previously slipped back into the comfort of English without even noticing, and now he was making up for it. (So… how were your… eh… first days here at Wammy's?)

I forced a tender smile on my face.

«Äm… alles klar. Es ist alles bestens gelaufen.» I lied. (Um… everything alright. Everything has gone perfectly.)

The next half an hour was spent with Joke explaining things I should know about Wammy's to me and with his friends just standing around doing nothing. Apparently, the meeting we were assisting was not quite as formal as I'd thought it would be. It was more like a chill-out reunion every genus member was forced to attend. People on J spent that time chattering with friends or gossiping.

But not only that. The lanky kid told me to watch out for an older girl named (surprise, surprise) Echolalia, who basically acted as though she owned the place. Everyone was afraid of her (and her social influence) and since she was the second smartest out of all, not even the adults could touch her. She was the queen.

Besides that, Joke also told me that Sundays had more purposes apart from being our free, reunion days. Apparently, one Sunday a month (such as today) we'd be getting the monthly test results, or more exactly, our ranking in the _Brain Pyramid_ , as Joke called it. Tests, by the way, were also taken on Sundays.

From what I could see, Joke had some kind of grudge against anyone who managed to become the first ranking in tests of their Genus, or in other words, anyone who became a _Head_. Heads, such as BC, Backup, Z, Echolalia, Halitus or Tib had special privileges.

They were able to get many of their wishes (primarily material possessions) fulfilled, their testing system was different, and they could change their curfew time or gain access to special rooms. Joke claimed that Roger usually (and secretly) asked anyone who promoted about something he or she wanted and took care of making sure said thing happened.

Even though Joke spent much time bad-mouthing Heads and anything to do with them, I now saw things clear: I wanted to become one myself.

And a high-ranking one, at that.

(Depending on your ranking on the Head List, you got more or less privileges.)

And I …

I wanted to be first.

First of all.

First amongst all.

And then, I'd succeed L and prove to everyone who'd made fun of me how wrong they were by doing so!

After a while more of talking with Joke and of his friends attempting to (we were conversing in German) I found that they were all quite likeable.

Joke had a strong desire to impose what he called _jokes_. Which they weren't. He had a joke for everything, sadly.

«A German fellow walks into a bar and asks for a martini. The bartender asks, "Dry?" The German replies, "Nein, just one."»

Joke stared at me expectantly.

I rolled my eyes. Drei, pronounced somewhat like the English for dry, was three in German.

Ha ha.

Joke started cackling. «It- It's just so…!» he stared saying,

«Awful?» Just, suggested.

«Prone to make you gag? » (that was Jamaica.)

«What about _extra funny_?» Joke asked pissedly.

«Yeah, that.» I agreed. My suck up techniques were still rather pitiful.

Joke chucked.

«See?» he said proudly after putting an arm around me. «He understands me!»

«Äm…» I started «At this point, I think it'll be a bit uncomfortable to say this, but… I'm a girl.»

Silence.

Then,

«What?»

«You're a…! You're a…!»

«Girl!? »

I nodded slowly.

«Oh… »

Things got a bit awkward after that. Luckily, I was saved by Jade's arrival.

Of course, as soon as she entered the room, Joke started scowling and whispering (not exactly quietly) bad things about her in my ear. Jade was a brown haired girl with wild running locks that were clearly against being combed. They grew all around her head, adjusted with a too small bandana of a faded pink colour with small straps and rotten pearls hanging from it.

The sight of her face reminded me a bit of a sad attempt to clown, those with lame jokes on rainy, gray days. She was of a sick-looking pale complexion, leader skinned. Her gaunt face reminded me a bit of a skunk, with jutting cheekbones and permanent half-closed eyelids. Then there were her fleshy lips, always seeming to be occupied with the copious action of biting her nails. And swallowing them. She dressed in a preppy manner, with pastel colours mainly. Her olive green eyes were usually swollen, for she cried a lot.

Joke said that she cried about everything (I've lost a contact, it's the end of the world~! he mimicked).

Ratting people out to Roger and never helping anyone were also two of her specialties. She was selfish, he'd said, she only ever lifted a finger to favour herself.

Listening to Joke's words, I couldn't help the feeling that started growing in the pits of my stomach. I'd gone through much worse than her! She hadn't been constantly hit in the shin by Mello, looked down on by Vladislaw, harassed by Echolalia and her subordinates, forced to endure BC's disparaging gazes and comments (right when everyone could see), spending sleepless nights recalling the wrath in Mauro's eyes…

Jade didn't understand anything.

She only cried and felt sorry for herself. What a big push over. And besides, what reason was there for her to cry? She had it all. She was a Head, the Head of J. She had privileges and the respect of her pears. And yet, she still acted that way… I couldn't help but agree with Joke and his friends.

«Wieso ist denn Jade so spät gekommen? Darf man das den überhaupt?» I questioned faintly as we saw Jade appear. (How come Jade came so late? Can you do that at all?)

Joke glared at her general direction.

«Also na ja, nein. Du und ich können uns das nicht leisten, aber sie ja. Sie ist ja ein Head.»

(Well, no, you and I can't afford to do that, but she can, since she's a Head.) Joke kept glaring at her.

«Heads sind echt dumm. Die denken alle dass sie so klug und cool sind. »

(Heads are real stupid. They all think they are so smart and cool.) He was quiet for a moment. As I looked at him, I recognised him rubbing his temples.

«Also na ja, wie dem auch sei, wenn Jade schon hier ist, sollten wir uns schon mal auf dem Weg machen.»

(So anyway, however it may be, if she's here already, it means we should get going.)

«Was? Wo hin denn?»

(What? Where?)

Joke shrugged.

«So dass wir mitbekommen können wie dum wir sind.»

(So that we can find out how dumb we are.)

«Huh?» I questioned.

«Wir gehen zur großen Halle. Dort gibt man uns unserer Grips Pyramide Zeuings.»

(We go to the auditorium. There, they'll give us our Brain Pyramid score.)

After saying this, Joke gestured for lanky boy, Jamaica, Just and I to follow him. He started walking towards the door of the room, where I could see that everyone of the J Genus was also leaving, following Jade's lead to the auditorium. Apparently, there wasn't such a big fuss about it in normal tests, but every four months, there was head testing, and the scores to those were announced at the auditorium.

Eventually, I found myself caged in an enormous room along with the rest of the orphanage. All children stood or sat down on the ground facing a stage of sorts (this time I was sitting with Joke, Jamaica, Just and Lanky) whilst seemingly waiting for something. That something turned out to be Roger.

He appeared as unexpectedly as always, and quickly made his way to the centre of the stage. Silence was in order. Only seeing the scene from afar, even though I knew that I hadn't even taken the test, I still felt the excitement and turmoil vibrating in the air.

Roger's voice wasn't exactly the loudest or most attention capturing voice I'd ever heard, yet now, all eyes and ears were entirely devoted to him. Roger harrumphed.

«First of all,» he started «I wanted to call your attention upon the new integrants of our big family here at Wammy's. Please, I ask you to greet them warmly and become their friends.» He paused for a moment.

«Please, those who are new here, would you care to come up here?»

I'm not proud of admitting that I only even went there because Joke told me that Roger had said so. (In my defense, he was talking in English).

Anyway, I slowly and hesitantly started making my way towards the stage and towards Roger. I could already make out Mello's raised chin right next to him. As soon as he saw me approach, he glared at me. But I didn't really glare back. I was too intimidated.

Upon my arrival at Roger's other side (I was not going to give Mello another chance to kick me in the shin) people started to jeer and boo at me.

I felt myself shrinking away from everything around me. I wanted to dig up a hole in the ground and bury myself in it. Cease existing.

Upon catching my stare, Backup gave me his signature somewhat creepy grin. Although in that moment, I couldn't have welcomed it more.

I insecurely flickered around with my hair. I wanted to start chewing around on it, but I was afraid that I'd get even more laughed at if I did.

«Quiet!»

Roger's order broke through the chaos. I slowly turned towards him. His face was pale, like it always got when he was angry. But now, he wasn't just _angry_. He was mad. Even more so than the time I'd called him a dumbass.

« _Quiet!_ » he repeated even though the room was already filled in tense silence. «What do you think you're doing?!» Roger asked furiously. I was so taken aback by his menacing tone (I'd never expected the old man to speak in such a cutting manner) that I tripped own my feet, falling to the ground, away from him, and all without noticing what I was doing. Even Mello seemed impressed.

After his question, the room's silence only became more tense.

No one answered.

«Well?!» Roger pressed. A while passed and he had yet to receive a response.

«Who do you think you are?!» Roger continued. There were heard whispers amongst the crowd, clearly nervous about how Roger had suddenly got so worked up over them.

«How do you expect succeeding the world's epitome of justice if you do _this_?!» he agitatedly gestured towards my sullen figure on the floor and was only met with silence.

And then it clicked.

I realized why.

That the reason why Roger was screaming his throat off was me.

 _Me_.

I suddenly felt very queasy and stupid.

On one hand, I was happy that someone was finally protecting me, which is what I had wanted from the get go. But now that I had someone to do just that, I couldn't help but feel terribly worthless.

What was to happen to me if I couldn't even stand up for myself to a bunch of spoiled children?

I felt as though there was a black hole in my stomach.

It became hard to breath, and I was telling myself to do something. _Anything_. But not just stay there and let me pass off as a crybaby.

Which I truly was.

 _A_ _crybaby_ .

But no…!

I can't be.

After all I've been through…

After I looked down on Jade for _that_ very reason…

I couldn't just let that sit with me!

After I had endured so many things…

I can't!

I'm no crybaby!

I'm not pathetic like that!

 _If only I could convert my thoughts into actions…_

My breathing became more agitated as I tried standing up. I opened my mouth. Before my brain and my fears could stop me, I had already done it.

«I don't care!» I had screamed. Roger, who had apparently been talking, whirled towards me in shock.

I suddenly felt very small.

But I had already spoken, everyone was staring at me. It was too late to back off.

The second time I opened my mouth to speak, my voice left it very quietly, like a fine and breakable thread. «About what you…» I closed my mouth upon noticing my weak voice. The sea of children below me was staring to murmur and whisper things to themselves, point at me, giggle.

Upon looking at Roger, he had a look of despair on his face. He probably thought I'd finally gone insane. Mello was looking at me with that scornful stare of his.

«Weirdo…» he mumbled in Russian.

But I…

Couldn't.

Bare it anymore.

Let my carefully gathered courage leave me like this.

«I don't care about what you will wonder about myself!» I screamed. Well, it was more like a shriek. My voice was too high pitched and it clearly mirrored the fact that I did care. But my scream served its purpose. Everyone was quiet now. They'd stopped whispering about me. They were _listening_. For the first time, they weren't just laughing. They were listening to what I had to say. I'd like to think that it wasn't due to the fact that Roger in killer mode was standing right next to me.

I opened my dry mouth again. It all felt so mechanical. Amongst the crowd, I could distinguish Backup, who was grinning, (and truly served the purpose of his name), but also Joke, Jamaica, Lanky, and even Just, who were all staring at me in astonishment. I also caught a glimpse of BC. He was also looking at me. Just like Mello. Everyone was.

I was all alone on that high stage.

I was blended by the headlights.

«I understand that you have fun of me, but I will also attack you in counter! I don't do something wrong! If you are right, I understand, if you are not, like now, I hit you and you shut up!»

And then, since I didn't know what else to say or what to do, I slowly started walking towards the stairs that lead down to the stage and to the crowd.

(I made sure to raise my chin just like Mello did.)

There was a moment of silence, and then, as soon as I'd been swallowed by the crowd, the room bust into hundreds of whispers and murmured opinions.

All the adrenaline I had felt up there was suddenly gone and I was left with nothing but wobbly legs.

Everyone was taller than me and I couldn't see Joke anywhere. As I was looking around, someone suddenly caught my eye: Echolalia. _The dark queen I should avoid at all costs._

She had a small smile on her lips, yet it wasn't _warm_ like usual. This time you could actually make out how fake it was. It was a calculating and distant smile, as though she found me an interesting object to observe.

I heard Roger harrumph, (which meant he'd be starting to talk again) and used this opportunity to avert my eyes from Echolalia. _Don't make eye-contact if you don't wish to get fried!_

Roger seemed a bit unsure of what to say.

«Hmm…» he started «mhmm. Well, if this matter has been cleared, which it had better be,» no one miss the threat there, «let's move on to the test scores, shall we?»

There were affirmative murmurs amongst the crowd. I used this quick pause to scurry away from my spot close to Echolalia and keep looking for Joke and the others.

«As usual,» I vaguely heard Roger say «I will first start with the last genus.»

I kept looking around for Joke and stumbling about, (some people kept on tripping me) albeit without much luck. I did find BC though.

He didn't really seem to be paying attention to Roger and was instead busy staring at the ceiling.

«Your friends from J are that way.» He suddenly said in German. I stared at him in surprise. Either I stomped around like an elephant or this guy was psychic. How did he know I was behind him?

«Gee thank you… eh…» what was his alias again? Well, doesn't matter. BC wasn't even looking at me, his gaze intensely trained on the ceiling.

«So… how many light bulbs are there?» I questioned venomously. Was it seriously asking too much for him to even _glance_ my way?

He didn't.

«In this room?» he questioned. And yes, it was an actual _question_.

«Ugh.» I scrunched up my nose. «Forget it.» and with that, I walked in the direction BC had said Joke was.

After a while of looking, I found him.

«Heeeeeeyy Jacket,» he greeted.

«Hey.» I said.

«Dass war doch so ziemlich Klasse, wie?»

(That was pretty amazing back there!) he told me.

«Echt?»

(You really think so?) I questioned.

«Aber ja doch!»

(But of course!)

I smiled as an overwhelming wave of happiness overcame me.

«Wirklich?»

(Really?)

«Ja schon...»

(Well yeah)

«Yepee!» I started jumping around joyously, but was suddenly stopped by Just.

«Huh? What it is?» I asked in irritation.

He just nodded towards Roger on the stage. As I followed his gaze, I noticed that there was some kind of interactive whiteboard behind him.

There was a big black capital N in the middle, and numbers and names underneath it. I carefully and with much effort started to read.

1- _

2- _

3- _

4- Notorious

5- Numbness

6- Nothingness

7- Nor

8- Neither

9- Nana

10- Nerd

11- Nightmare

12- Northwitch

13- Normalcy

14- Number

15- No

16- Nemesis

17- Nock

18- Necktie

19- Nasty

20- Nostrils

21- Norway

22- Neon

23- Nerve

24- Nice

25- Natl

26- Neptune

27- Notorious

29- Necessary

30- Nelipot

31- Natty

32- Nassau

33- Norton

34- Nepotism

35- Nauru

36- Nature

37- Naught-

I was going to keep reading, but got distracted by Roger.

«And now, to the final three…» he was saying.

Huh?

«Was meint er denn damit?»

(What does he mean by that?) I found myself asking.

Joke looked at me from the corner of his eye.

«Er erklärt gerade der ranking von N.»

(He's explaining the ranking of the N genus, which is by far, the best one there is.) he told me while somehow managing to scowl.

«... In third position, we have... North!» I heard Roger say. Lots of people started to jeer (albeit not as much as with me) as a black haired girl went up the stage. I could see she was crying, although no sound came out of her mouth.

«Sie ist in der Grips Pyramide degradiert.» (She's been demoted) Joke explained. «Früher war sie Nummer Zwei» (She was second before.)

I sighed. What a horrible place this was.

«Wann endet dass den überhaupt?»

(When will this thing end, anyway?)

Joke glanced at me sideways as he watched a blonde girl saunter up the stage followed by cheers.

«So bald Nummer eins gerufen wird.» he mummbled. (As soon as number one here gets called up). He was speaking in a strange tone. It was noticeable that he felt devotion towards No#1, but also great hate and fear. And envy… Strange combination. «Also beißt du, der Typ, der jagt mir richtig Angst ein. Er ist wohl mehr oder weniger so alt wie du, hat jedoch perfekte Zeugnisse. Niemand traut sich den an!»

(You know… that guy…) he told me after a pause (he reeeeally gives me the creeps. He's probably more or less the same age as you, but he's got perfect test scores. No one dares nearing the guy!)

I looked up to the stage again.

There, standing just next to the crying black haired girl, North, and the other smiling blonde, Nike, stood, in a calm fashion, as though being there was as natural as breathing, BC.

I was so shocked that I outright screamed:

«Was beim Henker tut BC denn da?!»

(What by the last martian is BC doing there?!)

He was fiddling around with a miniature Rubik cube and was apparently ignoring everyone else.

But I knew better. I knew his antics. How he was always aware of what was going on. How he had always known each time I approached him. He just wanted us to _think_ he didn't care, think that he was some heavenly being above all else.

And for a moment, I wondered whether he was.

I had had so many difficulties in my way, and I'd likely have to withstand so many more… but he… had it all so easy.

I was consumed in feelings of envy, chewing around my hair and glaring at BC.

Joke's boisterous laughter tore me out of my resentful thoughts.

«W-» he sputtered «WC?»

I glared at him.

«Nein.»

In German, B and W had different pronunciations, (much like in English B and V) easily recognizable for a native speaker, but probably tricky for someone like Joke. But still… people hear what they want. And now he'd be laughing at me for calling BC a toilet. Great.


	9. Box

_Chapter Nine_

After Roger was done explaining the Brain Pyramid, people started to leave the auditorium in benefit of spending the rest of their free time chilling out (or studying, you never knew). In regards to me, I too was about to leave, yet Joke took me by side for a moment.

«He, Jacket!» he said,

«Hmm?»

«Da wäre was, dass du für mich tun könntest.»

(There'd be a little something you could do for me)

I arched a brow.

«Was denn?»

(What is it?)

«Also na ja…» he scratched his cheek. «Weißt du, Roger wird dich wahrscheinlich jetzt gleich zu ein Zimmer bringen wo du mehr Kleidungsstücke bekommst.»

(You know… Roger will likely bring you to a room where you'll get more clothing articles.)

I arched a brow.

«Schön,» (Nice) I commented. I had no clue were Joke was getting at with this.

«Also, in diesem Zimmer wo er dich bringt, da ist ganz fiel Krims krams, weißt du?»

(So, in this room he'll be bringing you to, there's tons of stuff, you know? ) I nodded slowly.

«Eh… ich habe da etwas… vergessen… kannst du es mir bringen?»

(Uh… I kind of… forgot something there… can you get it for me?)

«Klar. Über was handelt es sich denn?»

(Of course. What would we be talking about?)

Joke's face brightened.

«Das ist ja klasse!»

(Superb!)

There was a pause.

«Äm, na ja… was ich vergessen habe… das ist so eine Art Schachtel…»

(Uh… What I've forgotten is a… box of sorts.)

«Huh? Wie kann ich die denn erkennen?»

(How can I recognise it?)

«Äm… sie sollte unter einet alten Kommode sein.»

(It should be under an old chest of drawers)

«Wie sieht sie denn aus?»

(What does it look like?)

«Uh… normal?»

I was about to reply when Roger suddenly approached.

«Jacket!» he said «Come!»

I could guess where.

Roger led me out of the auditorium and through secluded corridors which I hadn't even known existed.

We went up many, many old staircases, until we finally arrived at the attic, I supposed.

We stopped in front of a wooden door.

«We store old clothes or used possessions here.» Roger informed. He then took a key out of his pocket and slowly opened the attic's door.

I was wondering whether he'd speak about what just happened at the auditorium. Or about the time I'd insulted him. Or when I'd gotten a bleeding hand.

I looked at Roger.

He took a garbage bag from a drawer and handed it to me.

«Here,» he said. «There are clothes and toys here. You can take as many as that bag can carry.» I smiled at him.

«Thank you,» not only for this.

He chuckled.

«There was also a watch with an alarm input on it somewhere in here, I believe,»

I laughed half-heartedly.

«Cool.»

«Look» Roger said. Was it now? Would he bring up _the_ topic? «In regards to clothes… you can… if you want… I can make an exception and let you take two bags of clothes…»

I stared at Roger.

No.

That was why…

I felt my eyes tearing up. I turned around and crouched in front of a wardrobe with clothes in it.

«Ha ha» I said. «I'll look at the clothes, now.» Period. You're dismissed. Leave. I'm going to start crying again. I'm such a crybaby.

«I'll be back in a while. Remember to take clothes for many uses and seasons. And maybe bigger ones, you know, so you don't grow out of them immediately.»

I didn't answer.

I heard Roger's footsteps.

Then the door was closed.

And I was alone again.

I stared sobbing.

Was I really that pitiful?

Did Roger really think I was so dumb that I wouldn't have more chances to get my hands on clothes and toys?

I really envied BC.

No, Near. That was his real name (alias). I was going to be using it from now on. I didn't want the WC-confusion incident happening again.

People understood what they wanted to.

I sighed.

But Roger was probably right.

He was doing me a favour by letting me take two bags. It'd be better to have winter clothes and summer clothes. And big ones at that.

Roger was right.

I didn't like that.

I started fumbling around through the closet in search of clothes.

I found some trousers, but as I tried them on, they all fell to the ground. Too wide. I looked around for a belt, but even with it, the trousers wouldn't stay put. They'd always slip down. I sighed. I took a few long t-shirts and pullovers, along with an old brown cloak and scarf which looked like they hadn't been touched in over a decade. At least they were warm. Finally, I found a bunch of dungarees. They were particularly practical for me because they stayed put and didn't slip off on count of the suspenders.

I took a pair of galoshes and a cagoule in case it rained and found a few dungarees that reached an inch or so past my knees. Along with a couple of shirts and t-shirts, they'd do for summer. I also took two ratty pairs of pyjamas.

Now only undergarments were left. And socks.

Oh boy, did the socks sting!

I didn't take any. I just got myself a pair of black sneakers and some transpiring shoes. They'd do along with the sandals I had now.

After jamming all the chosen clothes in my bag, I took a break to look around the room (and see if I could spot Joke's box).

I was in a fairly large room, but there were so many objects in it that it looked a lot smaller. On a first glance, it was clear that this room wasn't very visited, per say. Everything was covered in dust, little figments of paint were peeling off the walls, which were overseen with cobwebs.

There were many old bags with things in them, a few wardrobes which I had just attacked in search of clothes…

I could also see many old toys spread around on the floor, but they were clearly not in their best moment.

Dusty, broken, old-fashioned…

I saw a few Barbie dolls who lacked a leg, an arm, or even their head. I also spotted an old green dinosaur, (which I stuffed in my bag) and a rusty Rubik's cube with its paint peeling off (I also took that one, along with a toy robot and a few puppets).

I sighed. At the very back of the room, I spotted an old piano covered in dust along with a drawer chest. Looking underneath the latter, I found a small box. I supposed that this was what Joke had forgotten, so I took it (with much effort, it was remarkably heavy for its size) and crammed it into one of the garbage bags.

I sat down on the floor, at the centre of the room, and didn't know what to do anymore.

After a while, I sauntered over to the piano. I slowly pressed one of the keys down and it made a strange noise. I pressed the next one. This time, it was more high-pitched. I chuckled.

I started pressing its keys, just for the fun of it.

After a while, Roger came back.

I heard him shuffle through one of the garbage bags, but I just ignored him and kept pressing the keys, albeit my mind was elsewhere.

Why did everything have to turn out so horrible for me?

I mean, first, I got kicked out of my foster family (well, maybe I helped out a bit) then, Mauro's horrible look, and everyone was gone, and then, Ashley Wilkes, and then… I got here. I met Backup, and Echolalia, and Mello… and no one liked me, and everyone thought I was dumb, even Roger… but no… I wasn't…? And then, Roger had stood up for me, even though… and I had looked down on Jade, for something that I myself did… or, rather, was: a coward.

I had gone and believed Zombie, and I had insolently insulted Roger on my second day here—he, who had been the only one to stand up for me—hated me, I was sure. And then, I'd gotten all those needles stuck in the palm of my hand… Roger probably thought I was a monster! And I had destroyed BC's –Near's– twin towers, and he had accused me of slaughter of them in front of everyone, Mello had hurt me! And I was… just…

I felt a hand on my shoulder and winced.

I suddenly realized that I wasn't playing the piano anymore.

«Jacket…» I heard Roger say softly, «why are you crying?» And I realized that I was. You're such a crybaby! Crybaby! Where's all that bravado from before? I only cried harder.

I was hyperventilating.

I buried my face in my arms, which I rested on the piano's keys. It made a sound. Loud. I winced.

Why?

Such a weakling.

Such a coward.

Like I claimed Jade to be.

I started crying even harder.

I think Roger didn't know what to do in that moment. I guess he could have called one of the caretakers, but he didn't.

I was probably not worth it, anyway.

«Jacket…» he repeated. «Please, look at me.»

I took a moment to try and calm down. I finally managed to reduce my tears down to helpless sobs. I turned around.

Roger regarded me. He looked much older now.

«Ro- Roger…» I mumbled. «I'm sorry.»

Roger looked utterly confused.

«About what? » his old voice rang back to me.

«A- about calling y-you a…» I started crying again. «I didn't mean it! I swear!» I screeched. «I didn't know what the word even meant.»

Roger looked at me in surprise. After a while, he just said:

«Don't trouble yourself with it.»

And then, silence.

Roger got up and left the room.

I wondered whether he hated me. Whether he had just lied.

But he came back.

«Here,» he said. He handed me a chocolate bar.

I looked at him.

«You don't hate me?» I suddenly asked. Then I covered my mouth in shock. I didn't mean to ask that!

Roger's eyes widened in surprise.

«Jacket! For God's sake, no!»

I felt a wave of happiness rolling over me.

Between sobs, I smiled.

Roger sighed. He walked over to a corner of the room and rolled over an old chair to then sit down in front of me.

«Eat up» he said pointing towards the chocolate bar «it'll help.»

«With what?»

«Make you happy.»

«Chocolate? » I questioned. «How?»

«Money may not buy happiness or grow on trees, but when it comes to chocolate, both are true.» Roger said misteriously.

I stared at him. What?

«But how can something like chocolate make one happy?» I insisted.

An idea seemed to cross his mind.

«What about the "feel-good" side of chocolate?» Roger pondered. «Good question. For a start, there is the world's most widely consumed psychoactive drug: 1, 3, 7-trimethylxanthine by name, inside of it. You may have heard of it, Jacket: we call it caffeine.»

«Yeah,» I said. «But caffeine only helps keeping you awake, as far as I know.»

«It works by counteracting the natural neurotransmitter adenosine,» Roger explained «resulting in an increase in heart rate and muscle contraction.»

«Ah… okay?» I mumbled.

«There is also a significant presence of theobromine in chocolate,» Roger said. He seemed intent on explaining chocolate's particles to me. Almost as if… «A similar stimulant which also happens to be the molecule that makes chocolate poisonous to dogs–»

«Chocolate is poisonous for dogs?! » I interrupted.

«Yes,» Roger said curtly, to then resume his chocolate-related tirade. «Then there is serotonin, a natural neurotransmitter which controls many functions in the brain, including mood and behavior. The body makes it from the natural amino acid tryptophan. Chocolate contains both serotonin and tryptophan.»

«Uh… what is an amino acid?» I questioned. This whole explanation, with so many weird names… and all of it, related to something everyone knew, related to chocolate.

No matter how simple, everything is complicated.

«Amino acid is a simple organic compound containing both a carboxyl (—COOH) and an amino (—NH2) group.» Roger cleared, seemingly pleased with my question. To then resume his harangue. «Another chocolate molecule believed to be important was discovered less than 20 years ago: anandamide. This binds to receptors in the brain known as cannabinoid receptors. These receptors were originally found to be sensitive to the most important psychoactive molecule in cannabis, 9-THC. Likewise, anandamide and similar molecules found in chocolate are also thought to affect mood.»

«Cannabis… isn't that a drug?»

Roger nodded.

«Oh, wow.» I said. «So chocolate is a drug?!»

«Now, now, let's not exaggerate, Jacket. Cannabis is not even inside of chocolate. I simply said that anadamide binds to the cannaboid receptors.» Roger said. After a pause. «I wouldn't give you drugs.»

I smiled.

«You're right,» I said «sorry for making weird assumptions.»

Roger chuckled.

«Don't be.» he said. There was a while of silence. «You know, Jacket, about assumptions…»

«Huh?» I turned towards him.

«L once told me this:» Roger said.

What? He'd spoken with L?

«He said that assumptions are his only weakness and strength.»

My lips parted slightly and I absentmindedly chewed on my hair.

«How is that possible?» I questioned.

«He didn't explain it.» Roger said.

«Oh… okay…» I mumbled. What could he have possibly meant with that? It was completely contradicting! He sure had given me some feed for thought.

«So, you've met L?» I questioned after a while.

«I talked to him once,» Roger said. «But besides that, no. Not face to face, at least.»

I nodded.

I couldn't help the smile forming on my lips. «Can you tell me more things?» I questioned.

Roger chucked.

«Of course.» he said. «I can't promise to always have time, but you can come to my berau and ask. »

My face brightened.

«Yepee!»

And I dug in. (Into the chocolate.)

Roger watched me eat.

I was doing so happily, but suddenly, a question occurred to me.

«Roger?» I said.

«Yes?»

«Shouldn't Mello be here as well? I mean, he's new, right?»

Roger sighed.

«This room, it is reserved for new children. But… only for those with particularly low entrance scores.»

 _Curiosity killed the cat._

Mello must've had very promising test results.

I sighed. I shouldn't have expected any different.

Upon noticing the look on my face, Roger seemed to know what I was thinking.

He went into super-serious mode.

«Jacket,» he said. «There is no perfect test.» He paused. «Intelligence can't be measured like that.»

I sighed.

«No.» I didn't even know if I was denying or affirming Roger's previous statement.

«Listen very closely, Jacket.» Roger said.

I stared at him.

«You are in a school for prodigies!» He exclaimed. «You are five years old and you don't even speak the local language! How can you think you're less than others under these conditions?»

Yeah! I smiled.

«But… B–Near is more or less my age and he gets perfect test scores!»

«Near is a special case!» Roger exploded. «Don't concern yourself with him.»

«Yeah, but he said I'm stupid!» Okay… I admit: I was maybe, just maybe, fishing for compliments.

Roger sighed.

«Don't take him seriously.» He told me. «He behaves like that around others as well, even Heads.» I stared at him.

Near sure was arrogant. Only _that_ already made him a worthy successor of L.

«And…» Roger said in amusement. «He seemed interested in you. I don't think he considers you stupid.»

«Huh?» _Reeeally?_ Okay. Roger had maybe fibbed a bit too far into trying to cheer me up.

«And me neither, Jacket.» Roger said with a wink. «You catch onto subtle things quickly. Vladislav has told me that, with a bit of extra work, you'll be able to get high. Maybe not become a Head, but still, I'm sure you'll do very well in tests.»

I jumped upwards and did a little dance.

«Zamech **a** tel'no!» ( _Wonderful!_ in Russian)

Roger watched me. He was smiling.

«Do you want me to prove it?» He asked.

«Well of course! » I exclaimed. But then I frowned. «But right now? How? Didn't you say tests aren't perfect?»

Roger smiled.

«Do you want me to prove it or not?»

«Yes I do!»

«Are you sure? Will you give it your all?»

«YES SIR!»

Roger chuckled.

«Alright, Jacket. I want you to take your time to try and remember everything I said about chocolate. Can you do that?»

«I guess… but why?»

«I have a very special test for you. It's about chemistry, which is something I think you could maybe be good at. But first, the more you know, the better. I'll only let you take the test if you prove to me that you were paying attention when I talked about chocolate. You know what they say, right? People are good at what they like, because they pay attention to it.» he stopped for a moment. «And maybe, if I see you remember things very well, I might find more time to tell you interesting things like you asked me to?»

So what do you think I did?

Of course, I sat down on the floor and forced every little neuron in my head to concentrate, (or at least, that's how it felt like to me). I had started chewing on my hair again, but since I didn't want to cause a bad impression on Roger, I settled for twisting one of my longest strands around.

I fixed my gaze on the pavement, and thought back to Roger's explanation. I remembered his first sentence. It had been something like «Unlike money, that doesn't make you happy nor grow on trees, chocolate does both». But no… the wording had been slightly different…

«Money can't bring you happiness nor grows on trees, but chocolate does both»? Maybe it was like that?

No. It had sounded cooler… anyway… moving on. I could come back to that one later on.

He had said that chocolate had caffeine, and its name was really long. With a seven, a three, and an H. I think it started with H. What was it again? It ended similarly to caffeine. Maybe it hadn't started with H? It had reminded me of the word «trim» and of «amphetamine» if you put them together, you got «trimamphetamine» but it was longer... With a «to» and an «n» and an «x» but it had also sounded like «timeex...» something until Roger finished talking. «Trimexphetantomine» maybe?

NO! I jumped upwards Trimephylixanine! Or something like that. After a while of pacing around the room, I had it: trimethylxanthine.

Heh.

Moving on…

I remembered to have asked about something. It had been a two words concept, and the last word had reminded me of… Near. Because he'd said something that I associated with Near. Oh right! Amino acid!

I had heard Amino, and it had reminded me of albino, which reminded me of Near.

And then, back to caffeine, no to… trimethylxanthine! There were two or so more words that ended like it. With -ine. Roger had said that trimethylxanthine worked counteracting a neuronal… a natural neurotransmitter, named... Adenosine. And that the heart rate accelerated and the muscles stiffened… and he'd also talked about cannabis. But he'd said that it… the molecule or something wasn't inside… but affected cannaboid concepts – no– receptors or so, that made something happen…

And that because of something else, chocolate was poisonous for dogs…

I don't know how much time had passed, but Roger looked kind of tired of sitting on the chair like that, and the light had been turned on. I wasn't sure about anything anymore for repeating all the words in my head so many times.

But I had to try…

Without preambles, I started to talk. My gaze was still fixed on the ground, my hands were still fiddling with my unkempt hair, and Roger could've very well been asleep for all I knew.

But I needed to let it out.

«Money can't buy us happiness nor does it grow from trees, but when it comes down to chocolate, both are true.»

I paused and took a deep breath. From the corner of my eye, I saw Roger looking at me.

«So why does chocolate make us feel good?»

I took a calming breath.

This is it. I'm gonna make Roger give me that test!

«Well, for starters, chocolate has gotten 1, 3, 7, trimethylxanthine, the world's most consumed psychol- psychoactive drug. Otherwise known as caffeine. It works countering the natural neurotransmitter adenosine, resulting in an increase of heart rate and that the muscles tense– I mean, contract.

Chocolate is also poisonous for dogs, because there's Theodor– theobromine inside, a molecule that's pretty similar to caffeine.

Chocolate contains serothomine and thrytophan. I mean, serotonin. Serotonin is a molecule – a neurotransmitter, a natural one, natural neurotransmitter, that controls emotions and such in the brain. Oh, emotions and also behavior. It is made with thrytophan that results into albino acids. No wait! Thrytophan is an amino acid. And it's inside of chocolate.

Yeah.

And then, twenty years ago, another important discovery was made: anadamide was discovered inside of chocolate. It connected with cannoby receivers. No, cannaboid receptors. Which were discovered to be sensitive to 9-HTC—no, 9-THC, which is a molecule found inside the greatest psychoactive drug… No wait. The cannaboid receptors were found to be sensitive to 9-THC, the most psychoactive molecule in cannabis.

Oh! And you also explained that amino acid is… a simple organic compound that contains both carboxyl with something about COOH or something and an amino NH2 group. Or that the group was called NH2»

I stared at Roger.

Oh… in my mind, I had known it better.

I bit my lip in preparation to get screamed at… or something.

But Roger didn't do anything.

He just stared at me.

Then he got up and ruffled my head.

«Let me take a look at the clothes you've picked,» he said weakly.

He walked over to one of the garbage bags. There were toys inside, along with Joke's box.

«Don't you want to take more toys? » he asked. «Here, take these,» he vaguely pointed towards the barbie dolls I'd seen earlier on. Roger stuffed them inside the bag.

I didn't like barbie dolls. Yuck!

Roger suddenly made a sound of surprise. «Huh?» he said. I saw that he was holding Joke's box. «What's this?»

«A box.» I answered.

Roger opened it and peered inside. I tried to see what he was looking at, yet couldn't.

Roger seemed alarmed.

«Where did you get this, Jacket?» he interrogated me.

«From underneath that drawer chest.»

I said.

«You already knew where it was.» Roger stated.

«Huh?» Roger sure was smart. I nodded solemnly.

Roger took the box and ran out of the room, again, for his age, he sure was fast!

I decided that the smartest course of action was probably to stay put and wait for Roger.

He hadn't said anything about letting me take the chemistry test! What a shame!


	10. Webs of lies

_Chapter Ten_

I was left all alone in the attic while Roger had stormed off somewhere with the box. I just sat there for a while. Time passed, (maybe it had only been five minutes) but I suddenly felt the need to do something. So I got up and started shuffling through toys. Y played with an old sock puppet, which I named George, but that eventually got boring. I also pretended to be a duckling along with a green frog plush, and read a book about an oyster that got lost. Then, there was a blue yo-yo which I threw inside my rubbish bag, along with a tangram and some crayons, which I used to make a drawing of Mauro, Lucas, Claudia, a few other children at Santa Porta's Kinderheim and myself, while going for the ghost hunt. At the back side of the paper, I wrote: _liebe Freude aus Santa Portas, ich hoffe wir treffen uns wieder, und das alles dann wieder gut wird_. Dear friends from Santa Porta's, I hope we'll meet again, and that everything will be alright again when we do. But I quickly crumbled and threw it away because _that_ was something I had left behind me. But only thinking such things already made me feel sick. I wished everything was fine again… that I was back at Santa Porta's Kinderheim, that Mauro still thought of me as a friend… but wishing was for naught. Still… I felt bad for throwing away the drawing. I'd put much effort into it. My fingers had hardly managed crumby lines that transformed into a few children. There was me, with my flaming hair that looked way to red, standing behind a wannabe Mauro, who was holding a torch for everyone else behind him. So he was standing in the _lumiere_ . The torch projected light on the ceiling, helping create humongous shadows on the ground that glared back at us (although they looked more like a bunch of wild clover). All of us children were raising our hands in front of Mauro's torch to form Chinese shadows with them on the ceiling. Mauro's hands lead to the formation of a dog's head, while my own resulted into a pigeon.

The background was of dark blues and black, (although the white of the paper could still be appreciated in some bad colored areas). Then there were brown wood rafters on the ceiling and quadratic shaped pavement tiles.

Overall, the picture looked pretty shabby, but it still meant a lot. And to just throw it away like that… I couldn't.

I quickly got up and stumbled to where I had thrown the crumbled piece of paper: on top of a wardrobe, that was right behind a huge pile of old things, books and CDs. I tried fighting my way through, and it turned out to be quite tuff. Finally, when I reached the wardrobe, I sat down to take a break from all the shuffling toys and books around.

As I got up, I was suddenly hit by the realization that I was way too short to even reach halfway up the wardrobe.

I tried jumping, which obviously didn't work. So I settled for climbing. But I couldn't do that either as the lower part of the wardrobe was completely flat. Thus, I chose a compromise: jumping _and_ climbing. I still can't believe how it was possible for me to do something as stupid. I remember the wardrobe inclining a bit towards me; sightly out of balance. Thankfully, I was quite light, and so managed to reach the upper part without incident. I did notice the wardrobe shifting at that point, so I deemed it _unsafe_ to keep climbing. I stretched my hand towards the top of the wardrobe, where I knew that my drawing should be located. But there was a brown cardboard box blocking my path, and no matter how hard I tried, I just couldn't reach past it… I stretched my arm out and put all of the weight at the back of my feet, arching my back slightly to get a better angle and be able to get past the box. Just a bit further and…

The wardrobe finally gave in and came plummeting towards the ground, me in between them both. I hit my back very hard, and my head as well. I screamed out of sheer pain. But the walls of the room were thick, and no one else bothered to go to the attic. Thus, no one heard my agonic screams.

It was hard to register what was going on, but the tremendous adrenaline rush that came with the shock from the fall helped sharpening my senses. I vaguely realised that it could have been much worse, that I should be _death_. But I wasn't. Why wasn't I squashed by the wardrobe? My left knee hurt a lot, I suddenly noticed. I opened my eyes fearfully (they had been closed till that point) and slowly squirmed through my surroundings. There was lots of dust that got into my eyes and made it harder to breath (although I was hyperventilating already, but I digress).

I was so confused and scared.

I was under the wardrobe, but I wasn't squished, right?

But why…? No stop! Before asking questions, get outta here! I quickly moved towards the light. It was difficult to come out, and had I been even a little bit bigger, I wouldn't have made it. By the time I managed to flee my prison, I was feeling very lightheaded and my leg felt numb. I just stayed there for a while, heaving out with difficulty and soving pitifully (I had started crying at some point). I passed out shortly after, fading into the overwhelming drowsiness I felt. I eventually came to a while later (or at least, that's what I thought). The lights on the ceiling seemed to be intent on glaring at me and making my head pound and my eyes hurt. I just lay there for a while wondering where I was. I managed to remember what had led up to my current situation, and decided to check the time. I checked the orange watch I'd put on the day before.

02:09 am.

I lay my head back where it was slowly, intending to go back to sleep again, but suddenly felt someone there.

I retrieved my hand with a yelp, accompanied by a sharp pain in my head. But there was no one. After calming down, I realized that what had made me so scared was not a person. Persons were not supposed to be wet and sticky.

Upon looking again, I recognized it was blood.

But if there was no one here…? Whose blood was that? I could swear it hadn't been there before!

I suddenly felt very awake and jumped to my feet (which was rewarded by an extra painful migraine episode and a sharp throbbing in my left knee).

I looked around the room. The wardrobe was upside down on the floor close to me. Then I saw the box. The one that I had been trying to get passed. And I understood that it had saved my life. It was placed in between the ground and the wardrobe, supporting the latter's weight and making a little space in between the both of them (in which I'd been). It was the only thing that had kept me alive. I wondered how it was possible for a carton box to be able to support so much weight. It must have something important inside. And so, I took it forcefully out of its spot and put it inside (at the very bottom) of my garbage bags. Such an important object had to be kept!

And then, I went to the piano and started aimlessly pressing its keys while singing loudly the _Jingle Bells_ song.

Then, Roger came back for me, suddenly storming through the door. I turned back, startled. My scandalous _Jingle Bells_ chanting ceased as did Roger's loud steps. He stopped at the doorframe and stared at me. His expression looked torn between horror, fury and fear. In seconds time he was by my side. Then, he suddenly stopped what he was doing and looked at my head carefully.

«Jacket! Oh, for God's sake…! What happened? Are you alright? Where does it hurt?! How long have you had this injury!» A flood of questions startled me. I was confused. Whose injury? Mine? Oh… well.

«I'm just feeling a bit dizzy! Don't worry Roger! I've no injury! » I chirped in Russian (even though Roger had spoken to me in German). I formed my hands into a peace sign which I practically showed in Roger's face. He stared at me for a second and then took me by my upper am. I felt his strong grip on it, it hurt. Roger carried me away from the attic and the already familiar part that lead to the nursery. I vaguely heard Mss Aurora (the nurse) screeching.

I probably blacked out. At least, that was the first coherent thought my mind was able to form upon waking up in my bed. I then realized that my head in question was wrapped in something, and it hurt upon moving it. After that, I remembered that I was supposed to have cleaning duty and that Mello would be angry if I was late. I had to hurry. I jumped out of bed. Or well, not really. Upon moving my left leg to try and shake off the covers, I realized that moving my knee only a _little_ hurt _a lot_. And that I could in fact only move it a _little_ because it was in a plaster cast. Ignoring the fact that if my knee and head were bruised, it was quite likely that I had more injuries, I finally got out of bed and wandered off (painfully) to the bad room down the hall. After that, I went straight to Roger's office, intent on starting cleaning duty. As I passed the study hall, (yes, there was a _library_ for _reading_ and a _study hall_ for _studying_ , rich snots,) I was forced to take a detour.

«Oh, Jacket, what happened to you, dear?» Echolalia and her pals, (I only remember Halitus, Rinda and Tib), were standing at the door frame of the study hall. The one who had spoken was Echolalia, with her caring smile and kindhearted words.

I scowled.

«Not of your business!» I shouted in my best English.

«What? How could you say that?» Echolalia asked,« is everything alright, dear?» I scrunched up my brows.

«Yes, mother.» I responded coldly. Echolalia frowned.

«Are you sure?» she insisted, concerned.

«Go to hell!» I screeched.

«What? Jacket, please… if you need help, just say so!»

«Just leave me being alone!» I shouted back.

«But… I just wanted to help you, you know, I'm not the villain here, you don't need to antagonize me.»

I didn't understand some of the words Echolalia used, so I preferred to keep my mouth shut. Instead, I clenched my teeth and sent a ferocious glare in her direction. Then, I turned around, intent on leaving the scene. But I bumped into someone. Upon looking up, I found myself face to face with Backup. He was grinning wickedly, his hands were stuck in his pockets and his eyes glistered menacingly.

He suddenly started speaking in English:

«Oh, Jacky!» he exclaimed (somehow still monotonously) «I didn't know you were in bad terms with Echolalia» he saluted in her direction shortly «no can do about that! We need to teach you manners, it seems!»

Manners…? I hadn't really understood what Backup was saying, but I _was_ able to single out that word on particular: manners. I wrecked my brain in order to remember anything related to the familiar term. I distantly recalled hearing the Köhlers go on and on about _Tisch Manieren_ . Tisch Manieren this, Tisch Manieren that…

Tisch Manieren… what was it? I felt it had something to do with this…

Oh! Table manners!

«Uhh… I have an good table manners?» I replied in English. Why was Backup not talking in Russian? Did he want me to look bad in front of Echolalia and her gang?

Strangely enough, upon double checking the expression on Backup's face, I suddenly appreciated a strange smugness in it, satisfaction of sorts. What? Was it because of what I said?

«I don't mean _that_ kind of manners, Jacky,» Backup said, barely managing to hide a self-sufficient smirk from his features, «I mean ethics and such. You see, honor and fairness are normally taught to children by their parents, yet, unfortunately, some of the integrands of our great _family_ here at Wammy's seem to have a few problems with this concept in particular. Thus, I wanted to make sure you understood it…» strangely enough, he wasn't looking at me but at Echolalia. Out of reflex, I looked at her as well, but what I saw left me astonished. Her kind smile had been replaced by an ice cold expression.

«What do you mean…!» she hissed. I was starting to feel overcome by foreboding; her voice was low and threatening.

Backup flashed her his signature creepy grin and chuckled unsettlingly.

«Oh, you know very well what I mean.» He answered with a devish smirk.

«You wouldn't...» Echolalia said, now clearly trying to cow Backup. But the latter was unheeded.

«I've no interest in cleansing the system.» He answered simply. «You're in luck.» He paused in favor of a tense silence. I could tell he was enjoying this. Meanwhile, his words seemed to sink in. Echolalia looked visibly relieved, although still very tense. Backup then left without saying another word.

(Leaving me alone with mad Echolalia. Imagine that!)

A while passed in which I didn't dare to move, and neither seemed to Echolalia's fellow companions. They were all staring at her with dread, and she was boring holes into my skull (figuratively). As for me, I was looking at anywhere but her or her subordinates. In other words, I was closely inspecting my feet.

I was afraid in that moment. Afraid, of the parting of her chapped lips, afraid Echolalia would speak. Afraid. Oh, yes, I was filled with dread. I felt the threat of Echolalia's presence silently looming over me. Waiting, just waiting. And I waited along with it, I waited for the moment it would finally stop waiting. Filled with a feeling of dread and anticipation of sorts.

I started lifting my gaze from the ground. Steadily moving to face Echolalia's, slowly but surely approaching the unavoidable. Approaching the danger. I was like a mouse tasked with stealing a feather from an eagle, like a little bird cleaning a crocodile's fangs…

«You are to come.» Someone suddenly said tartly. I knew this voice all too well, yet it was not Echolalia's.

I slowly started to turn around, as though I'd be escaping some kind of spell. Echolalia kept staring at me though, as if she had not heard the voice. Somehow, I couldn't avert my gaze. My body was halfway turned, yet I was still looking at her. Was there really no one there? I wanted to look away, look at Echolalia's pals, see if they had heard his voice as well, but I could not.

I've got to turn. I've gotta turn around!

With everything I had, I got myself together. Look away. Why should I even give her my attention?! Look way!

I blinked.

No big deal, see? I looked at Rinda. She and her friends were all staring at something behind me!

I turned around fully.

«Okay.» I managed to say. BC-no, Near was standing there, holding a stack of Mikado sticks (ever heard of the game?) in both his hands. I could steel feel Echolalia's gaze on me. Yet I didn't dare look at her. Instead, I scurried over the distance that separated us, placing myself right next to Near. He inspected me through his bangs of wooly hair. Then, he just turned around and left. I didn't know what I was supposed to do. Should I follow him?

I peeked over at Rinda, Tib and Halitus. They were all staring at me like I'd grown another head.

«Uh… I think… I am… must leave… » With these parting words, I stormed after Near. I was not entirely sure whether what he'd said was meant for me, but anything was better than just standing there any longer.


	11. The room of doom and gloom

_Chapter Eleven_

I followed Near through corridors and passages as best as I could. (My knee didn't help with the three-flights staircase.) I reeled and limped behind Near for a while, until I finally managed to catch up to him and his slow paced steps. (That, or he let me, for whatever reason, catch up.

But anyway, I was limping about next to Near, until I finally couldn't stand it anymore and questioned him about this whole ordeal, (and the ordeal that led up to it, but he ignored that).

«There isn't much to explain» he had replied flatly, «and as to where I am going, I'm headed towards my sleep quarters» (to any other person known as _bedroom_ ).

I rolled my eyes. Regrettably, Near wasn't any other person, he was who he was, and that's why he was _where_ he was. (Or in other words, place no.1 in a hole stuck with ridiculously intelligent and competitive brats. Quite the achievement.)

«And what roll do I have in this?» I questioned irritated, (although, I must say, I felt kind of relieved to be talking in a language in which I could… you know… talk.)

«None of consequence.»

I sighed. At least I had been unshackled from Echolalia's claws. But that still left me with what I wanted to do in the first place: cleaning duty. Seriously, that resolve to clean the house shouldn't have been normal in a kid.

«Do you know where the trophy room is?» I questioned.

He answered without really looking my way.

«At the bottom floor, in the eastern part of the building, close to the entrance hall. You'll get there by turning around right now, retracing our steps until you reach the fifth passage after the last staircase. Then, you will turn to the right and walk in a straight line, until you pass the gym and the lower-classes chemistry lab. Soon after, you'll have to take a staircase that will inevitably lead to one of the community rooms, and eventually to one of the main halls, which you'll have to walk down by the path on the left, and then go downstairs. You should now inevitably find yourself in a large spherical room located quite close to the entrance doors. You'll have to take a door next to a large window facing a few corn fields, and then, by the next corridor to the left, open the first door to the right. You'll be in the trophy room now.»

I gawked.

«Uh… come again?»

Near ignored me and kept walking. I limped after him in outrage.

«Hey!» I exclaimed. «Wait up!» (Needles to say he didn't) «Tell me again! Hey! Please! Near!»

Near was left cold.

«Hey! You unheeded troubadour!» I burst out desperately «Don't you have even an ounce of chivalry left within you?!»

At least _that_ got him to stop, but he wasn't looking at me. I madly hobbled after him. (My knee impeded walking normally.)

«Ugh! Fui Teufel!» I grumbled, «after this, I'll be able to retire just with my greatly honed hotchpotch skills!»

Near snorted.

«You can't make a living by playing hotchpotch, Jacket.» he stated. «And this is not the Middle Age.»

I mocked his stern voice, irritated «this is not the middle age. Huh. Well who would have guessed that? I know that ALREADY! YOU PRISSY!»

(I did not know what the Middle Age was, but that was of little consequence in my eyes.)

Near didn't so much as flinch. No, not even acknowledge the fact that he had been insulted (somewhat).

«Even if I explain it again, it'll be to no avail.» He finally said.

I was seething by then. After such an _explanation_ on how to locate the trophy room, (if you could call it that) how was he even thinking I'd get it right only after the first time! Gee! I wasn't gifted and blessed and whatever like he was!

«You could accompany me there!» I suggested, irritated.

«Going there would achieve nothing.»

Now I was ticked! I planted myself before him.

«Stop thinking just in yourself, you self-centered, egomaniacal, narcissistic, selfish, egoist!»

Near merely lifted a brow.

«You might want to reconsider who you tell that to» he said pointedly.

«And you might want to reconsider your conceited mannerisms!» I exclaimed thunderously.

«When I said going there would achieve nothing, I wasn't talking about myself.»

I was about to bite something back yet stopped astounded.

«Quit making up fibs!» I ejaculated as I stomped on the floor to prove my point.

Near just ignored me and kept walking. I followed suit (hobbled suit) and waved my hands around in his face.

«Hey there! Heeeeeeeyyy!» no response. «Earth to Near! Earth to Near! Do you copy me?» the guy wouldn't budge. «Control tower repeats: a malign Earth-exoteric being has been found roaming around Jacket! He refuses to help this poor damsel in distress to safely reach the trophy room! What should we do about this malign abomination? The authorities are debating whether–»

I quieted up. Near was in the process of opening a huge door.

«Wh-what's going on?» I stammered.

«I'm opening a door.»

I was too curious for sassy remarks.

«What's inside?»

I didn't wait for an answer and instead peered through the crack of the door.

My eyes widened along with the door. I couldn't yet see much, besides well… about a thousand stacked pieces of garish colours. This was presumably one of Near's constructions (in my short stance at Wammy's I'd already gathered that he had a knack for building things) and needless to say, it was much greater than the needle twin towers I'd taken care of devastating.

I looked at Near.

«Why are we here?» was I even supposed to be here? When Near had said "you are to come" a while ago, I'd gladly obliged and followed him just to get rid of Echolalia, in-depending on whether _I_ was meant or not. I'd really started doubting that that was the case. First I had thought that maybe Roger had summoned me, but it had become apparent he had not, so…

I blinked at Near in confusion. He was already inside the (humongous) room, fumbling around with his already disheveled hair, —although I have to admit, his hair is kinda cool, but I digress.

I went inside the room, obviously. Well, more like, hobbled inside, my knee still hurt like crazy. Once inside, I discovered that this was not Near's bedroom. Nevertheless, he had told me that he was heading to his room, and I'd been there before, so I knew that this _wasn't_ his room. Upon questioning him about it, I was left ignored. Near seemed to make a habit of ignoring people on favour of paying an excessive amount of attention to the… pattern on the pavement? (or whatever he was so busy looking at.) I was busy looking around too.

The room in which we were was quite big, about thrice as big as my own, or even more! There were many toys of sorts spread around, but the room still looked super clean and neat, as though nothing was out of place.

But what mainly occupied most of the space (about 80% of it) was this huge colourful construction I'd already seen when I peered through the crack of the opening door. I'd first thought that it was made of lego pieces, which would explain why they didn't fall apart, but, upon closer inspection, I noticed they were plain normal construction pieces, with no kind of cavity to fit into each other, and that the only reason the whole thing still stood, was solely because of Near's skill (and gravity). I really wondered how Near had been able to reach to the upper parts of the… (I think it was a fortress?) Because honestly, he and I were more or less of the same height, and the construction was even bigger than a really tall, _standing_ adult, and I couldn't reach past Roger's waist, (meaning he couldn't either) and Roger was not exactly the tallest… so how?

I questioned him about it, but he ignored me. Again.

Instead of answering my continuous flood of questions, Near sat down and started building a protective wall around his fortress. I just let myself plummet down onto the ground. Finally! Me and my knee where relieved.

«Near…» I mumbled after a while, «will you tell me already why we're here?»

Near kept on stacking piece after piece, ignoring me.

«Ugh! Will you _stop_ ignoring me?!» I was already on my feet marching towards him, stone set on beating some sense into him.

I don't know how exactly it happened, but my knee finally buckled after a few steps. It gave in, and I wasn't able to recover my balance with such a short notice. So I fell on my back. But the fall wasn't too hard, as I didn't even hit my head.

My breathing labored.

After a while, I remembered that Near was here as well.

I looked at him.

I hauled myself up with great care in not hurting my knee.

«Stay put» he said.

I glared.

«What? Why?»

He shrugged.

«Just look at yourself. It's pathetic.»

« _I'm_ pathetic?!» I exclaimed, «What'd be pathetic would be for me to retaliate your childish provocation! That's what!»

There was a moment of silence.

«Just… let me help you out with that…» I meekly pointed towards the fortress. Not the best way of phrasing that, but well…

Near looked at me in appraisal.

«Fine» he said. «But you are not to move.»

And with that, we started building.

I didn't understand why he was so keen on keeping me in place, I mean, I wouldn't be going anywhere with that knee of mine…

I concentrated on building.

After a while, I really couldn't hold it in anymore and started with the questions again.

«What's this place? You said we'd be going to your bedroom but this is not your bedroom, right? So why did you change your mind? And how can you reach the upper parts of the fortress?» And so on…

«This is a playroom of sorts.» Near finally said.

«And how come there aren't any more children here?»

«They're in class.»

«And how come _you_ aren't in class?»

«I'm skipping.»

«What? I'll tell Roger and you'll be busted!» I giggled slyly. Although I wasn't really planning to rat Near out.

«Roger knows about this. He has told me that as long as I keep up my perfect scores in tests, he doesn't mind my skipping.»

I glared at him. Showoff.

«And how are you going to keep up the good grades if you don't go to class? _Hum_?»

«There's a thing called library which stores knowledge. I use that. I don't need to go to class. It's a waste of time.»

I was fuming by then.

«You what? Are you stupid? It doesn't matter whether you "waste" your time there! You have to go anyway! If you don't, you might as well be spitting on everyone else's intelligence! It's completely arrogant! And it's not like you're doing anything better here!»

Near regarded me disparagingly.

«As I said before, it's a waste of time.»

I just glared at him.

«Go to class.»

He ignored my last comment.

«But wait!» I thought out loud, «wasn't I having cleaning duty on Sunday? If there's class today, then…!»

«You missed out cleaning duty.» Near stated blandly.

«What? Why didn't you say so?!»

Once again, I stood up swiftly and wanted to saunter off to Roger's office (and to Mello) in order to deliver a proper apology.

«I said no moving.» Near said with a slight hint of irritation in his voice, just as the pain in my knee made itself known again. «And that's why I didn't tell you about cleaning duty. You're so predictable.»

This time, it was me who ignored him in favour of approaching the door. (Ha! Serves him right! The old sly boots!)

Just as I was going open the door to get out of his room, someone else did.

I stared.

The very people I was looking for were standing at the doorframe: Roger, who looked alarmed, Vladislav, haughty as always, and then Mello, who looked torn between fury and something else I couldn't quite place.

Before they could do anything else, I was spurting out my apologies.

Mello's look then turned into definite anger and he stepped forward, presumably to whack me in the head.

«Damn you, Jacket!» he spat. He'd already lifted his hand to punch me. I knew this meant nothing good and leapt for my life (with my right leg), successfully dodging Mello's punch.

«Mello!» Roger exclaimed, just as Vladislav drawled out a bored «leave it be, brats».

Of course, Mello didn't listen and kept trying to land a hit, while I kept trying to haul myself out of the way on time. (Roger was chasing Mello, and Mello was chasing me. How endearing.) But it rapidly became too much for me, and, after a particularly sideways jump, I ended up setting my weight down on my left leg, or in other words: my knee.

«Agh!» I exploded as I fell to the ground.

« _Jacket_ !» Roger exclaimed again. Mello was staring at me with that strange look in his eyes that I couldn't quite place, Near and Vladislav regarded the scene impassively.

Soon, Roger was by my side and helping me up.

«Jacket!» Roger started, «what are you _doing_ here?! You were supposed to be in bed!»

I stared at him.

«But… but I have cleaning duty! And classes! And, and…!»

«About that…» Vladislav said, «Here» he gestured towards a brown cardboard box in his hands «I've got a few exercises you have to do while in bed.»

I panicked.

«A few…? More like, a few thousands!»

I was (surprise, surprise) ignored.

«Do you know how to do additions and subtractions?»

«Eh…?»

«Doesn't matter. Mello can teach you.» With that, he was gone.

«Then, Mello, ask Mr. Vladislav tomorrow when exactly he wants you to teach Jacket, okay?» Roger suggested.

Mello nodded grudgingly and left also.

«Heads up, Jacket» Roger told me, probably noticing the expression on my face. «We expect great things from both you and Mello!» he then smiled, if only slightly, winked, and turned around to go look for Mrs. Aurora, aka _the nurse,_ and punish Mello for his violent behavior.

I sat down again.

 _We expect great things from you and Mello._

Yeah, right.

It was only Mello who they were after, who deserved their praise.

«I'm just cannon fodder.» I grumbled silently.

I heard Near snort behind me, he was probably going to say something, but I was not in the mood, so I didn't even turn around to face him.

«I hate losers like you» he said slowly, «who give up before even trying.»

I felt a jolt.

NO!

But he was right.

How was I supposed to win if I didn't believe in myself?! Fait is the last thing you lose. And I will never again, never ever again, no matter what happens, lose faith in myself. That, I promised me.


	12. George the puppet

_Chapter Twelve_

Ha! As if! Faith isn't something you can control! You can't cure your lack of self esteem just by deciding to! Jacket, you're so stupid!

A few kids started laughing in the back, and the sock puppet George cackled madly in my hand.

Yeah, but I can decide to fight!—I grit out.

Right. Because we're survivors—George mused.

I wanted him gone, and I started trying to pry the sock of my hand, but I couldn't. I heard myself speaking in the childish voice I´d assigned to George:

But I'm a part of yourself—myself, I'm a part of Jacket. I'm your conscience. The voice of reason in that stupid head of yours—and mine.

You're the stupid nagging voice of critic! —I wanted to say. Then, a priest appeared.

Strength comes from the will and the resolve.

Your weak logic isn't working—George answered calmly.

Ha! How are you gonna prove that, huh?—The priest transformed into Mello. Then, the priest next to him started gurgling and his gurgles became a sea, and the sea froze.

Then there was mad laughter, that gradually transformed into more happy, true giggles.

Two children appeared to be the source of it. They are playing in a frozen lake. But then the ice breaks and traps one of the youths underneath of its cruel claws. The ice layer is of three inches. Impossible to break. But the little child that is left trembling in the surface and screaming for help doesn't know that. He doesn't know that he can't. He only knows he needs to save his friend.

He takes off his shoe and starts impaling the frozen water with it.

When help comes (too late), both are safe and sound on the surface.

—A new voice speaks.—Had the child known he could not dig through a three inches ice-layer with a shoe, he would not have accomplished such a feat, and thus he would not have saved his friend. He wasn't told his limits, so he overcame them.

I opened my eyes. What a strange dream. I always had them, these weird dreams that didn't relate. Well—no, they did relate. There was always one thing that was permanent: mad cackles. I felt they were very close to me, both in dreams and reality, but I didn't know why. With a sigh, I braced myself for the upcoming day. I had a feeling it wouldn't be exactly pleasant…

And I was right, in the upcoming days, I was forced to handle having Mello as my teacher, (something that, let me tell you, was all but nice). And if that was enough, I couldn't leave my prison (aka bed) for anything, let alone go to the library to get my English books (something that upset—and bored—me greatly.) As was such, I decided to do something about it. I wasn't about to ask Mello to go get those books for me (I didn't have a death wish) and there wasn't really anyone else that bothered entering my bedroom. Thus the books had no remedy.

But you know what? Bored people can do great things.

I on my part started inspecting all the garbage bags I'd obtained on my tour to the attic, flinching at the creepy Barbie dolls and at George the sock puppet, and getting up from bed (against Roger's orders) to stack the clothes and shoes into my wardrobe. That left the bags quite empty, only with a torch, a strange pen, the tattered Rubik's cube and the old green dinosaur. And… the box that saved my life.

I guess I would've rather found out what was inside Joke's box, but this would be my consolation price. Crawling towards it, I found that the cardboard box was not only heavy, but also extremely dusty. Specially once I opened it, there was such a dust cloud that probably managed to make my room go gray. As soon as it cleared, I peered inside. Of all the things I'd been expecting, (a treasure map, a gun, a stack of diamonds, an alligator baby?) well, let's just say a lame portfolio folder had not been in the list. I wondered how a bunch of papers could weigh so much.

Slowly opening it, I found myself face to face with a headless guy. Yelping, I dropped the thing and leaped onto my bed. The image wouldn't leave my mind. Seriously, it was a gruesome black and white photo of a man, who lay decapitated on the floor, a petrified expression on his face.

I spent the next two hours quivering in fear, wondering what the hell I had seen. Why would such a picture be kept in there? What was this doing in an orphanage? Although, then again, I reminded myself that this was a place filled up with amoral genius kids that strived to become the best detective in the world, so maybe…

Slowly but surely, my fear was replaced with countless of questions, all of them centering around the portfolio.

After much hesitation and second thoughts, I finally found it in me to open the portfolio book again, this time on the first page. Fortunately, now I had more luck and didn't stumble upon such a gruesome image. Instead, there were newspaper fragments, and strange annotations, along with charts and pictures, all stored in the first portfolio. On the portfolio itself, someone had written something with a black marker.

 _The closed murder-scene crimes._

My eyes widened and I felt my stomach churning in fear.

No way…

For some reason, I kept browsing through the contents of the book, more horrified by the second. In each portfolio, I could see the same scrawled handwriting, accompanied of newspaper or book fragments that had been neatly cut off with scissors. The black marker entries on top of each portfolio were all equally horrifying. I can still remember some of them, like:

 _The neat skin shaving Hanoi serial killer._

 _The New York City "Son of Sam" killer._

 _Swindled his investors out of_ _18 billion murder._

 _The famous bank robbers, terror of the Midwestern US—late 30s._

 _The ZODIAK._

There were all kinds of crimes records in the different portfolios. The owner had apparently been some kind of crime-solving fanatic. He or she had gathered hundreds of cases, that could either be fictional or real, and kept them inside those folders. They always resolved around a murder though. Apparently, the wannabe detective who had done this had solved them as some kind of clandestine hobby. Not to mention, he just randomly tore off pages of Ranpo Edogawa or Sherlock Holmes books. He even went to the lengths of keeping comic pages, containing completely fictional cases. I just couldn't believe my eyes.

I found all of it so disgusting, how the owner had neatly written down all sorts of gruesome things, without the slightest change in his childish scrawl, avidly describing everything, down to the most gruesome scenes like it was nothing. Then, (s)he had also plastered little sticky, yellow notes around, which revealed his/her thoughts on the case and in which (s)he wrote down deductions and impressions. For example, there was one that said:

 _Not chairman Mao this time, although I can see the resemblance. This makes me wonder whether the Cambodian Pol Pot—the actual criminal—is in fact a copycat, the same thesis I had developed for the unsolved ZODIAC murders. Sadly, I must say that ZODIAC was by far more interesting than this mass murder, and I sincerely hope that I will stumble upon another mass-murdering case of such magnitude again…_

Honestly, I think it'd be an understandment to say that the author gave me the creeps. But I somehow couldn't lift my gaze of the strange book, so much so that I found myself even opening case folders, more and more losing myself in the thrill of the cynical game, avidly looking for clues on who the murder was.

I was so lost in the _game_ , that I almost had a heart attack when my bedroom door opened.

«Huh? It's so dark in here…» a voice commented. It was familiar. Apparently I hadn't noticed that the sun had set already. The lights went on and I could suddenly see Jade standing in the doorframe. As I looked at her, she mustered my room with a critical gaze, to then land on myself.

«What's up with the dust?» she commented. I shrugged. Then, her gaze fixed on the portfolio and the photo of a victim (I refuse to further describe it) and her complexion paled.

«What the fuck!» she screamed with narrowed eyes.

«Huh? What's a—fuck?»

«Stop screwing with me! What the hell are you doing with that!?» she vaguely gestured towards the picture. And that's when I understood what got her so riled up.

«Ehh…» honestly, what was I supposed to say?

She just shook her head.

«Well, on second thought, I don't want to now. Roger said to accompany you to the nurse, seeing as I'm your Head and all.»

I shrugged. Stuffing the last case in the portfolio, I quickly closed the book and left it on a book shelve.

«Let's go…» I told her in my best English. Speaking of which, all of that reading the portfolio cases had seriously taught me a lot… much more than any grammar book. There were many words I couldn't understand, but I could guess a great amount based on the context anyway, and the rest… well, I wouldn't die if I didn't know what _autotonsorialism_ was. I'd just look into it later. Jade nodded.

«Keep your distance» she warned me when I approached her. Apparently I was disgusting. We both walked towards the nurse's office, where she, Aurora, told me that, as of now, I could walk as long as I didn't force my knee too much. My head was apparently not so fine, but I didn't give it much thought because, well, people don't walk with their heads.

Afterwards, I went to the dining room for the first time in two weeks (spent in bed). I could hear the many choruses of voices inside, all chatting excitedly about whatever. Strangely enough, upon walking in, the whole room became silent. Everyone was looking at me, Jacket, the small redhead with lumpy dungarees. Needless to say, I felt quite intimidated.

I guess they made such a big deal out of it because of my "speech" at the auditorium.

Uhh…

I quickly glanced around. I could see Joke, Jamaica, Just and lanky boy sitting by a table to my right. I hastily approached it. I was about to ask something in German, but thought better. With my superficial knowledge of English, it would be better if I practiced some. I pondered for a while. Verb: to can + verb: to seat, + subject: I, + preposition (was it at or in?) + article: the + noun: table… okay… I noticed that everyone was staring at me with baited breaths as though I was about to make some kind of important declaration. Huh.

I prepared to speak.

«Can I seat in the table?» I said pointing towards it.

The whole room started talking all at once again. Gee, so weird. Joke nodded suspiciously.

«Sure… but why were you with Jade just now?»

Oh, right. Joke envied her.

«She came to accompany myself because Roger said to her to.»

Joke nodded.

«Ah, then it's fine. So was she really mean to you?»

I nodded.

«Yes, she was ultra mean and bad.»

«Oh, that's terrible! Everyone, JADE IS A MEAN BULLY THAT TAKES ADVANTAGE OF THE WEAK LIKE JACKET!»

Jamaica patted me on the head while Just kept ignoring us. It looked like lanky boy wanted to say something, but he never got to because Joke's shouts left no room for anything else.

* * *

I must thank all of you for your feedback and continued support, (may it be spoken or unspoken) which I always really appreciate.

Also, a special thanks to FAITHHEIDY21, my first reviewer, GOD OF ALL, CHOCO M, CCNC7216, JOANNAFROMTHESHIRE, RAFFIE 13035, Harlz96 and AurraStargazers.

But most of all, I wanted to thank SNOWCATT, CARLEY-CARLEY-CARLEY, ALISLANDALE and METAPHORS AND MIRACLES, whose reviews I've found particularly interesting.

SNOWCATT: In regards to the blood taking thing, I appreciate your feedback, which is based on a personal experience, but I think I won't be changing that part as it's pretty trivial. There was a period in my life in which I had to go through tons of blood tests and well, I've taken the little knowledge I have of them (much of which came from interrogating irritated nurses) and gone on ahead and used it in this. But whatever. I wanted to focus more on another review you wrote (which I really enjoyed reading, by the way) in which you basically analyze the structure of Wammy's House and what consequences being brought up in a place as such may have.

Well, yeah. Your ending thesis pretty much nailed it! Still. You're probably right. My approach to this whole educational system in Wammy's is kind of exaggerated (just like Jacket's knowledge sometimes). I'm really thankful when people point out this kinds of flaws, and so, I'll try my best diminishing them!

CARLEY-CARLEY-CARLEY: I think you're totally right in one aspect: Jacket knows things and speaks in a manner no kid her age should know and speak. I think this is particularly noticeable in some of the first chapters (as you can see, I've come up with something for the haemofobia thing) and I'm working on this aspect of her character (making her intelligence more plausible). Tell

me if you think I'm improving!

METAPHORS AND MIRACLES: Thanks so much for your compliments! Anyway. You're right about Jacket being unrealistic sometimes. I really am a _big_ drama queen after all! I'll try my best in making Jacket more... Erm. Well you know, I should provably rephrase that. I'll try my best in _not_ making Jacket your typical cliché character with an unfortunate background/past which in itself causes much, much terrible suffering and hardships, that are bravely endured and lead to our heroine becoming strong and humble!

Yeah right... Please tell me if my story is becoming like that. I'll give it my all to avoid this in particular!

ALISLANDALE: Thanks for telling me about chapter nine. I'm on it! And yeah, I'm aware I've made Jacket over-intelligent, and I'm trying to change it, but the chapters have already been written, and I can't very well change the story-line just like that... But anyway, thanks for your support!

HARLZ96: Good question! Near... hm... his intentions are _puzzling_ , just like he likes! As for the box, well, I guess this chapter sort of answered it. And I think some of you probably know whose box exactly that was!

AURORASTARGAZERS: Well, glad you liked it! And don't worry about our mellow Mello! Hahaha! :))

Says HUZZAClonya96


	13. Defiance

_Chapter Thirteen_

I glanced sideways. Mello was viciously scribbling away on the spot on the floor next to me. Vladislav was nowhere in sight. He had left us alone doing math exercises. In order to make sure we didn't cheat from each other's answers, Vladislav had established a "score". Basically, whoever finished earlier or had less mistakes or whatnot got points. By the end of the month, the loser would be transferred to the class of the death last (which was very difficult to leave) while the winner would move on to the second last class. To tell the truth, I would've expected Mello to get a 1000-0 score against me, but we were pretty even. Mello was faster in math operations, while I had the advantage in the "comprehension-expression" department. Where Mello was better at memorizing, I somehow made it up by deducing. So, we were even. I was determined to prove myself to everyone. I'd decided, even if I couldn't—wouldn't become L's heir, the further you aspired, the further you got. And so, I set that as my goal, fully aware that I wouldn't reach it. I suspected Mello was equally ambitious. And I knew one thing: as much as I hated admitting it, Mello was better than me in all areas that counted, and it would be a bad idea to turn him against me more than he already was. In fact, the reasonable idea would be to gain his trust somehow. But if there was one thing Mello gave out freely,—besides punches—then it was definitely not trust. Gaining it would be close to impossible. The closest thing I could perhaps achieve would be to make him realize that I couldn't possibly pose a threat to him—which was true.

And since I suspected that Mello was bad at reading between the lines, I decided to take matters in hand:

«Mello» I began in Russian. The blonde snarled but didn't glance up at me.

«if you want to slow me down so I lose—»

«I couldn't beat you even if I tried» I assured. «Which I won't.»

At this, Mello risked a quick glance away from his number series.

«Don't lie.» he said coldly. «You try hard.»

I gave him a questioning look.

«If the eye-bags don't speak for themselves, then I'd be damned.»

I glanced at him with raised eyebrows.

«I've trouble sleeping.» I informed tartly.

Mello looked at me mockingly.

«Oh, really?»

«Really.» I conceded. «I have nightmares» —definitely not a lie. If Mauro and Wammy's horrors hadn't been enough, then the gruesome murders in the portfolio sure did the trick. I only managed to sleep a few hours before darting out of bed in a fright. It was, well, in the truest sense of the world, a living nightmare.

Mello sneered.

«Aaaawww, does little Jacket dream of the monster under the carpet?»

I told myself not to shoot him any dirty looks. Instead I smiled.

«Yes, his name is Murky.»

Mello gapped. Then, quickly regaining his composure, he snarled.

«What do you want?!»

I sighed.

«Uhh… how do I put this…?»

Mello glared.

«What?»

«We could cooperate!»

Mello gave me a bewildered look.

«What are you tal—»

«That way, we'd get outta here sooner!» I said happily. «It'd be a win-win situation. Think about it, I could do your comprehension-expression stuff and you could do math for me! Or something along those lines!»

Mello glared at me mutely, probably at a loss.

«What?»

I sighed again.

«About this contest thingy» I said while waving my hands around, «We'd both get an easy win!»

«Are you stupid?! What are you saying? There can only be one winer, and that's me!»

I sighed again.

«That's irrelevant. Whoever the loser may be, if they wants to succeed L, they should have no problem in getting out of the death-last's class anyway.»

Mello stared at me weirdly.

«Look,» I said «Vladislav's just doing this to forbid us to cheat while he's having fun somewhere instead of teaching us! That's what he gets for ignoring us! »

«Tsk. You're weird.»

«So I've been told. Let's shake hands? …No? Ahh… fine.»

Mello glanced back at his homework.

«I'm done with you. You made me lose too much time anyway.»

I glanced back at my own paper.

«Wait!» I called.

«Now what?»

I grinned sheepishly.

«I already did those!» I said pointing at a few subtractions and decimals divisions Mello was working on. «I started at the end of the sheet! Soooo… we could trade subtractions!»

* * *

Mello glanced at the redhead in front of him. He was strange. And seemed lazier than he'd thought. He'd somehow overestimated the guy. But man, it was rather obvious Jacket was stupid, for, who else would call himself that of all things? But then again, Mello sometimes was under the impression that this Jacket guy _was_ smarter than he let on. For example, how did he learn all that English so quickly? He started _a whole week_ later than Mello and already spoke creepily much. Mello didn't like how popular he was. Everyone, even the grownups, whispered about Jacket this Jacket that. Apparently, the moron had a wardrobe fall on him, and this other really creepy antisocial guy had stood up for him in front of the Echolalia girl. Who Mello profusely disliked. But then again, he didn't really like anyone. And the other ghost boy who Mello had seen on the podium for being the brightest seemed to know Jacket too. Mello wondered how the hell the seemingly frail kid managed to meet _and_ pick the interest of all the top dogs in such a short time span. He glanced at his classmate warily.

«We will trade subtractions.» He agreed gruffly. «BUT, you have to write every one out of five wrong; otherwise that ass Vladislav would get suspicious since you usually have many wrong.»

Jacket nodded.

«No problem.» And he started writing.

Mello observed him curiously.

Was he really Russian? He looked more… British or Dutch or something, what with the red hair and all. And really, his hair was _way_ too vibrant to seem natural. Ruffled and uncombed, a bit too long for a boy (then again, Mello wasn't one to talk) and slightly wavy, those obvious signs of bad treatment were the only ones that made it clear that Jacket obviously wasn't dying it. And then, there were those freaky adumbral eyes. They were the same colour as Mello's only a lot paler, so much so that the milky blue could be mistaken by gray. Looking at Jacket was creepy somehow. There was a huge contrast between his flaming hair, then his huge crystallized eyes, the ultra pale skin, and his bloody, red lips (seriously, he bit them too much). Not to mention Jacket's skinny figure, shabby clothing and distant demeanor. All in all, with an appearance like that, the guy might have been wearing a sign with _perfect for bullying_ written on it. Although Mello made a mental note to avoid that seeing as the creepy senior guy seemed to be on good terms with him.

Mello took the paper Jacket had handed him and squinted at it suspiciously.

«How do I know these aren't wrong?»

Jacket rolled his eyes.

«You don't.»

Mello was about to punch him out of ire when he continued talking.

«But I can assure you, Mello, that I haven't written them wrong on purpose, if that's what you are thinking.»

Mello frowned. That was it. The other thing that always bothered him so much about Jacket. It felt as though he could read other people's thoughts without so much as _glancing_ their way. Mello often wondered what was _really_ going on in that wicked little brain of his.

He grunted.

«You better have got them wrong or else…»

Jacket didn't react to the threat whatsoever, seemingly busy jotting down answers in a scrawl typical for children who didn't know a thing about writing.

«…Yeah…sure…they'll be…»

Mello glared and started copying. As it turned out, a few had been wrong, earning Jacket a few kicks in the shin, but Jacket usually made mistakes, so Mello decided that he hadn't done it on purpose. After class was over, he stormed out to the dining room, in hopes of monopolizing the dessert's consume.

Once accomplished, he carried all the pudding plates and other dishes to the biggest table around, which was strangely empty. Not long into his feast though, the ghost kid came walking up to him. Mello decided he was even creepier than Jacket from up close. With a totally frigid face, the boy professed:

«This is my table. Therefore, vamoose. Now.»

Mello didn't comprehend half of what he'd said, but he did understand the wraith's hostility. So what to do in such a situation?

GLARE.

And Mello was a champion at it.

The wraith, aka ghost kid looked unfazed.

«Leave.» He simplified. And Mello did understand that. Clenching his teeth, he prepared to land a blow on the guy. But the wraith just rolled his eyes and sat down on another chair, as if to say "I don't give a crap anyway" which just set Mello off even more. But he could catch a glimpse of the old geezer (aka headmaster) nearby and decided he didn't want to be on cleaning duty again. Last time was bad enough, with Jacket ditching. And speaking of the little devil, he was right there. And snatched his fifth pudding away, plopping down between him and the wraith with a content sigh, clearly missing the tense atmosphere.

«Give that back!» Mello growled, secretly happy to be able to talk in Russian again and scare the wraith out of it.

Jacket pouted in a girlish fashion (ew!) which was suddenly replaced by a smirk that made her look like a cat somehow. Mello glanced at her pudding.

«Bah!» he said, «I wasn't gonna eat something with your spit in it anyway!»

Jacket shrugged and kept showing pudding in his mouth. All of a sudden, the geezer came up and started nagging at her about something in a language that was neither English nor Russian, and Jacket had to leave with him. At that, Mello found himself smirking in satisfaction. Soon, everyone would bow down on him. While Jacket would get stuck into the death-last class, the others would learn to acknowledge his awesomeness! Even the infamous L! The guy would walk up to him and say:

 _"Hm, I think Mello is more intelligent and mature than anyone else, so you'll be my successor! Totally!»_ Mello smirked even more. Or even better!

 _"Hm, you really are better than me already, aren't you? I guess you can take up the job now!"_ Woah. That was _so_ happening. What face the wraith would make! And Jacket? Hahaha! LOSERS!

«Oh, Mello, thinking of your teddy bear?»

Mello was about to shout at Jacket, but then saw that Backup (the creepy guy he'd decided not to mess with) was in a table close by, so he let it be.

* * *

«Whatever.» Mello said. To then stuff himself with the pudding. I really hoped he'd get fat and grouchy so I could hide in the trees like I did with the Köhlers.

I glanced towards my left. Near was sitting there. Huh. How strange. As far as I knew, this was _his_ domain. You'd have thought he'd have kicked Mello out by know.

«Why haven't you kicked him out?» I asked. Mello stared at me suspiciously and I inwardly thanked the Köhlers for teaching me German. Meanwhile, Near placed a tea spoon on top of the tea spoon tower.

«I don't waste my time with losers.»

Oh. Well, wee! I think he called me that too sometime.

«What's your criteria for determining someone's a loser?»

I could swear Near's face showed a hint of being annoyed as he deadpanned:

«They lose.»

«Well duh.» I said, now annoyed myself. «Who would have thought that?»

Near ignored me for the rest of the meal, so I tried working on making Mello let his guard down and talk to me, but there was no luck since he seemed to be in a particularly foul mood. I was submerged in my thoughts when a familiar voice decided to interrupt them.

«Hey Jacket!» _Oh please… not now…_ «How are you? Trying to suck up to them?» _Or more like: not ever._

«Leave me alone, Echolalia.» I mumbled.

The tender faced girl giggled.

«Oh, are you feeling down? Come with me! Let's cheer you up!»

«What pisses myself off at most about yourself is that all you say is a phony.»

Echolalia pouted.

«What? How could you?» she coed. «I'm not faking Jacket!»

«Seriously speaking, you should know she can drop the act.»

«Awww, but it's funny!»

I scowled. Two could play this game!

«Hey, Mello» I smirked, nudging him with my elbow conspicuously. «You know, this girl over there,» I pointed at Echolalia while trying to come up with an embarrassing story, «she's like, the kinkiest person you'll EVER meet!» I chanted obnoxiously (in Russian of course).

Mello eyed me seemingly torn between his wants to punch me and malicious curiosity.

«So what's the catch?» he asked.

I grinned. «Of course you'd know there's a catch!» Well, she's kind of…» I paused darkly… «a Trypophobia case!»

Mello looked at me weirdly.

«So?»

«She's afraid of holes!»

Mello sputtered.

«What?»

«That! Holes! Small, icky little holes!»

Mello's voice was drenched in skepticism.

«Really, Jacket?»

I nodded profusely.

«Yeah, she's _terrified_ of holes. That's why she picks on me! There are holes in my pants!»

I lowered my voice to a seemingly secretive degree. «You see, when she was just a toddler… she and her goldfish fell into a honeycomb with lots of bees in it… that's why her hair is amber colored!» I paused dramatically. «She made it out alive… but, oh! Tragedy! Mr. Moustache the goldfish slipped away trough the holes of the honeycomb!» I sobbed.

«Oh.» A new voice appeared right next to me. «But shouldn't she be afraid of hexagons then?» I blanched.

«Backup!»

He winked.

«The one and only.» Turning towards Echolalia, his faze morphed into one of deep-rooted sorrow.

«Oh! I am _so terribly_ sorry!» He professed, this time in English. «Your poor Moustache! I can't believe you lost him like that!»

Echolalia was dumbstruck.

«But seriously» Backup continued obliviously, «don't take your anxiousness out on Jacket! She didn't know you were spooked by the holes in her pants.»

«My… moustache? Holes? …What?…»

«Don't worry!» Backup continued. «It's nothing to be ashamed off!»

Echolalia's visage morphed into ire.

«You dare defy me…!»

«Defy?» I interjected with animosity. «Oh, but please, I was just paying my respects to you, my highness…» to then add in Russian, «her highness the Queen Bee!»

And Backup burst into cackles along with me. It wasn't all that funny, both Backup and I felt the same way about this, I was sure, but we kept laughing for the sake of seeing Echolalia squirm. _Oh, is revenge sweet…!_ Echolalia gave me, and only me, a hating look and promptly left the dining room. As soon as she did, Backup stopped laughing, his face monotonous. Near, who hadn't spared us a glance in all this time, coldly commented:

«She's going in for the kill.»

Judging by the fact that he said it in German, it was obvious he was talking to me.

And it wasn't until then when I realized I'd just dug my own grave.


	14. Has a prize

_Chapter Fourteen_

I returned to my room as soon as afternoon classes were over, quickly locking myself in.

I took out the portfolio folder, and sat down on the desk.

I sat there for a while, without doing anything.

 _What would Echolalia do to me?_

I tried to shrug it off. I had locked myself in. She couldn't do anything.

 _I am save._ I internally repeated.

I glanced around my room warily. Still white and neat. The floor was still stony. It wasn't really _my_ room. It was an alien place which I had to lock in order to feel moderately safe.

There were a few books on the shelves. I could see _The Last Martian, English for Beginners,_ or one I'd just finished that dawn, _Tales of Petrusilious Zwakelman's Witchcraft Years,_ and older ones like _A quick guide through Cyrillic, Red Calvary, English-German-Dictionary_ and many more.

Is this what Mello meant when he said that I work hard? I never really realized it. I just do. No qualifiers needed. Either I work, or I don't work, and that's that. And then again, I do read in sleepless nights—aka, every night, so that's bound to help somehow.

I stared at my books firmly. Only they weren't. They were from the library, or Vladislav, or… well, the library. My clothes, too didn't belong to me. _My_ watch, _my_ rubik's cube… My. Only not. Did I even own _anything_?

I began to understand why everyone was so obsessed with climbing ranks.

But…

The portfolio. _My_ portfolio.

I knew it was stupid, but…

I opened the book, ready to lose myself in the cynical art of murdering.

And the hours flew by.

I squinted at the childish scrawl. Was I right? Was Mafalda Crooch really the killer?

 _This case proves to be rather simplistic,_ The Creep wrote, _it is true that at first glance, the killer seems to be Colin Brown, but on further inspection, it has become apparent to me that he could not have pulled off a murder on such a scale all by himself. But anyone suspecting him was not completely in the wrong; as he is in fact an accomplice. He knew of the murder in advance, knew who and why it was executed and most of all, it was him who hired the killer on Ms. Mafalda's petition. That's right, hired. Meaning, the killer is a hit-man. Ms. Mafalda is the one who plotted the whole assassination as soon as Mr. Carl knew she was having an affair with Mr. Williams. I am aware that this was not made public, but I can tell they were lovers by the picture I've added, which portrays a slightly younger Mafalda drinking tea with Mr. Williams. Of course, the act in itself is not abnormal, but looking at Mafalda's body language, she has her legs crossed in a manner that exposes her thigh, she is holding the tea cup in a manner that shows her palm, both very clear subconscious signs of flirting, and to top it off, she is leaned forward in interest. Williams' body language is equally suggestive, as he is also leaned forward, albeit with straight shoulders and slightly raised eyebrows. The rest of his body otherwise proves my theory right as well. Be it as it may, since Mafalda had no evidence incriminating her, she was set free._

 _However, as I see it, she convinced Williams' step brother, Mr Brown, to hire the killer in order to kill her husband. Of course everything went as she had planned, Mr Brown being a socially constipated idiot left all the right clues for the police to find, and his word against Mafalda's would of course, mean nothing. I also suspect Mafalda was responsible for the appearance of the botany book in his bedroom, which makes me wonder how long in advance she had planned…_

I did a little dance.

Squee! I had not guessed all of it, but I had the overall idea! Great!

 _In the end, both Mr Brown and the killer, Mandy Greenwill were incriminated. I myself think that qui facit per alium facit perse, so…_

What?

I already understood most of the text, so what the hell did that whole incomprehensible sentence mean?

Outraged, I stomped out of bedroom 158 (because it wasn't really mine) and made my way to the library. Once there, I saw the usual, Near brooding on a book, the typical bespectacled boy reading Benjamin Franklin's biography, and a few others. But to my utmost surprise, there was Mello. Somehow, the picture of Mello studying made me question whether this was another one of those bizarre nightmares.

Leaving behind the desks, I ventured into the maze of books, and to the already familiar section of English dictionaries. I quickly picked an _Oxford Pocket_ out. Alright, the sentence was _qui facit per alium facit perse_ , right? Let's start with the "qui" then…

But to no avail. I tried all the words, but nothing.

I then took out as many different English dictionaries as I could carry. Maybe the first one was just too small? I kind of hated it when The Creep figured something out and I didn't. It was stupid, really, since he probably wasn't even in Wammy's House anymore. Hell, we'd never met! But seriously, _something_ about the kid (or more precisely, everything) just set me off. I thought of him as a freaky creep, yet I hated the notion of losing to him. It was kind of sad, to have an old book as your rival… But whatever. As I was saying, I took out as many big English dictionaries as I could carry and brought them to the table in which Near was sitting (admittedly, I was kind of curious about what the guy read in his free time) and dropped the humongous volumes on the table.

Glancing over at Near, I saw he was reading a law book.

 _Seriously?_

I decided not to dwell on it and do my own thing. And now I promise, I spent _forty minutes_ in there, avidly browsing through dictionary after dictionary, getting more, and more, and all were useless. Finally, I plopped my head on the table in exasperation. _Just what the hell?_ Maybe The Creep had invented an encoded language? But shouldn't I have seen it before then? Why stick it in the middle of a sentence?

«Argh!» I growled in exasperation, making many heads turn towards me. Near even looked up from his book to give me an icy glare.

«Have you thought that maybe what you're looking for is not English?» he stated blandly. I gave him my best look of utmost enlightenment.

«Oh, Near, my friend» I drawled sneakily, «good to hear of you! Why don't you volunteer to the cause and help out your good old pal Jacket?»

Near glanced at me with those black deadpan eyes of his.

«I'll pass.» He stated coolly, to then turn back to _Law Enforcements_.

I glared at him, pissed.

«Oi Near!» I yelled in his ear. «Either you help me, or I go to your room and sabotage your new castle/tower/city or whatever!» Near lifted his head to look at me. Bingo! «Ya hear me?» I added in English to emphasize my words, «I know where you live pal!»

I think everyone was staring at us by then, some snickering even.

«You're such a nuisance.» Near answered equally in English. The snickers increased, making me flush in embarrassment. I wrecked my brain for a good comeback.

«Well you are… umm…»

Near went back to reading as my flush became redder by the second.

«You lack pigmentation!» I exclaimed out of the blue. Some people were even laughing now.

Near seemed to be interested now.

«Pigmentation?» he wondered blankly.

«Yeah! As in, you're all white! Your skin matches your hair!»

«I think you mean I lack melatonin.» Near deadpanned.

I blushed even more. _Geez!_

«And your skin matches your hair too.»

Full out laughter by then. I really wished I had been swallowed by the earth right then.

«Damn you Near, you old sly boots! You…» I didn't really know any of the _bad words_ in English, so I used the next best thing. Lucky me that I had recently read _The Tales of Petrusilious Zwakelman's Witchcraft Years._ I spent the next five minutes casting cursed spells and hexes upon him. Kind of like:

«In the name of Great Petrusilious, I smite thee!»

Or:

«I invoke the nameless ones who came before to wack you with frogs and toads!»

In the end, I think Near was really annoyed. Seriously, this was a first.

He closed his book and turned towards me airily.

«One minute.» He said monotonously. Still, there was something menacing about his demeanor. «I give you one minute to get out of my sight.»

No threats needed. The dreadful "or else" was left hanging in the air.

«Wait!» I exclaimed in horror. «Do you know what "qui facit per alium facit perse" means?!»

Near scrutinized me with his gaze.

«That's Greek.» He stated. «Now go.»

I kind of flew out of there. And then I returned and disappeared into the bookcases maze.

Finally, I found it.

"... common law maxim _qui facit per alium facit per se_ , he who acts through another acts himself, operates to make the acts of an agent within the scope of his authority, in legal effect, the acts of his principal."

Okay. So I was kind of mad. It was a very known law term, and right next to me, Near had been reading a book on it. Couldn't he just have told me, instead of sending me all the way over here!? I was really tempted to go over there and punch him, but in the end, I decided against it, because, admittedly, he had kind of scared me. I had pissed him enough for the next millennia, it seemed. Sighing, I walked over to his table. I should really quit getting on the nerves of all the important people. I started returning all those dictionaries to their former places, and even found it in me to apologize dejectedly. (I kind of hated it, but I guess I had been in the wrong. This was a library after all.)

My apology went somewhat like this:

«Near. I'm sorry. But you should have told me you're reading a book on it.»

And I stormed out. He didn't really lift his gaze from the book, and quite frankly, that left me both angry and relieved.

It was time for supper so I returned to room 158 to drop off the new Greek book I'd got.

Yet great was horror upon arriving.

Because my rival, The Creep, wasn't there. (Aka, a portfolio.)

And not only that, my walls had been decorated too.

YOU ARE NOT WANTED HERE.

GO AWAY.

WE _HATE_ YOU.

JACKET JIPSY, OUT OF OUR SIGHT.

Hot tears were streaming down my eyes.

«Echolalia!» I screamed angrily, still weeping as I ran down the hallways. «Give it back!»

Because I knew it, she got _my_ portfolio.

GO AWAY. _Isn't that what Near had said too?_

 _WE HATE YOU. HATE. HATE. HATE._

 _Leave. I'm not wanted here. I'm not. No. No._

 _._

 _._

 _._

 _Why am I even here?_

* * *

«Oh, little Jacket, you look torn apart, something the matter?»

Echolalia.

Dining room.

I was there.

Echolalia was there.

Everyone was there.

«Roger isn't here to protect you, so what now?» Echolalia said darkly, sweetly, sickeningly.

Roger wasn't there.

Everyone was here, yet I felt more alone than ever.

I wailed.

«Give it back!»

«Oh, someone got your little toy?»

«Give it back!»

«Been keeping a diary, have you?»

Apparently she hadn't opened it. Or… wait, had she? Everyone was here, if she opened it now…

«Jade told me some interesting things about this little hobby you have» Echolalia started. «I think we'd all love to hear about it.»

«NO!» Adrenaline kicked in.

 _Everything but that! What will they all think!?_

I was already halfway across the dining room, hopping towards Echolalia.

It must've been the look in my eye that made her unsure. There was no time, so she quickly opened the window next to her table and tossed the book out. It fell into a pond.

No words can describe what I felt right then. I wanted to do so many things.

Punch Echolalia until my knuckles hurt.

Tell everyone that this wasn't what it looked like.

Cry.

Look for Roger.

Go back to Santa Porta's…

In the end, I turned around and ran.

I sprinted trough the many corridors and halls till I found myself dashing towards the green pond and launched myself into it.

The portfolio was easy to find, and I quickly re-emerged out of the pond. I was still livid though. I returned to the dining room. To _her._ On the way there, I saw myself in a passing mirror. My lips were purple, my skin sickly pale, my eyes too wide and bloodshot from opening them underwater. My dungarees seemed even bigger now, falling from my body like deadweight. Worst of all was my hair, which had acquired a greenish color and stuck into my face and neck. I imagine Medusa to look like that.

It's not like I didn't care, but there was just no time. I knew I couldn't do anything to Echolalia, but it was just _wrong!_ Everyone else was just standing there, not doing anything!

The least I could do was tell them. Make them realize how _wrong_ it all was.

I found myself facing Echolalia again.

Holding her gaze was difficult.

If she was a queen (wait, scratch the "if") then I was just a quivering pawn.

I was trembling. Bathing in January is not very intelligent.

We just stood there for a while. Echolalia was smirking.

I took in a deep breath and turned away from her.

I looked at everyone else.

«Qui facit per alium facit perse.» I said, stuttering heavily due to the cold. «Do you _really_ think this is acceptable?» I hugged myself for support. «I know that you are afraid of her, of your self-proclaimed queen, but I am too! What can she do? Only if you give her the power can the queen reign! Why do you support something like this? It only makes you horrible people!»

I lowered my face. I was crying, and cold.

«Don't let the queen reign. Just think of yourselves, you'll realize—»

«Jacket, that's enough.»

The one speaking was Just, the boy who disliked me, Joke's friend.

He took off his blue cap and placed it on my head, successfully covering my green hair.

«Try to look presentable when you give a speech like that.»

«Bu—»

He walked away, out of the dining room.

For a few beats, nothing happened.

Then, Near was gone too, wordlessly.

Backup got up, smirked at Echolalia and wailed:

«Jacky, grown-ups wear coaaaats!» And he was gone too.

After that, the blonde girl, second in N's Brain Pyramid followed out too, and the black haired one, trailing right behind. A low mumbling broke out as people started to walk away. Jacket caught a glimpse of Mello's blonde head disappearing amongst the crowds. And lanky-boy left too…

Echolalia was disgruntled.

«Stop right now.» She commanded. «The only one leaving here is _you._ »

And everyone who hadn't left yet stayed put.

Well, I didn't, but that's an understandment.


	15. White ink

_Chapter Fifteen_

«What the hell was in that notebook anyway?»

«Mmhm… nothing big» I commented while whisking away a few paper sheets on subtraction and division.

Mello wrinkled his nose, he knew I was lying.

«Whatever» he grunted «I don't really wanna know about your hobbies. Ya know why?» No reaction on my part. «Because I know you're really creepy. And murky. Eeeh…»

Compared to The Creep, I hardly am creepy, I thought defensively.

«So?» I said with faked aloofness.

«I bet it was a diary with girly stuff on it.» Mello tried.

«So?» I repeated in monochord.

Mello balled his fists angrily. He was probably trying to rile me up so I'd tell him about the portfolio. Too bad that the accusation of being girly didn't work on me. (I am a girl after all.)

«Ugh!» Mello exclaimed. «It's my birthday! Tell me as a gift!»

I stared at him.

«Wasn't your birthday supposed to be on February?»

«It's the thirty-first already! That's tomorrow!»

«I wouldn't tell you even if Santa asked me to.» I smirked evilly. «Not in a million years!»

Mello glared. He apparently decided to change tactics, as he went for my weak points now.

«Tch! What a pushover you are, letting yourself get bullied so easily!»

I thought for a moment.

«But… maybe…»

«What is it now, Jacket?»

«I just had this crazy idea…» I said grinning.

«What?»

«I'm returning the favour to her. To Mrs. Bully.»

«You wanna bully Echolalia?» Mello asked skeptically.

I nodded.

«I never thought you were that dumb!» he cried out. «There's no way you can pull that off with your brains! Or lack thereof anyway.»

«Oh, then how about you, Mister Smart Guy?!» I asked him in irritation.

«I could do it, duh!»

«And how are you so sure?»

Mello stopped. He knew what I was trying to do.

«You're crazy if you think I'll help you.»

«No I'm not.»

Mello kept glaring.

«C'mon…» I said. «I know you hate her guts too…»

«Fine» Mello grinned. «But you're the one who gets busted if something goes wrong.»

I nodded my approbation, and we sealed the deal.

And so, we did it:

We filled Echolalia's shoes with kitchen honey while she was asleep.

It went well. No one was found as the culprit, Echolalia had the worst time of her life, and the people who so happened to be in the hallway as she skippered out of her room with glossy feet had a lot to gossip about that day. Or week.

It went too well, in fact.

Mello and I decided that it had been so fun, that we just had to repeat it.

We carried out a number of pranks I will not discuss, which all in all sent the whole orphanage after the mysterious wrongdoer's heads.

We even stuck slugs into Vladislav's bed.

But that was the beginning of the end for our pranksters alliance. We'd had the advantage of scene and date picking, but even without catching us red-handed, Vladislav knew it was us.

And being the resenting guy he is, he evilly told Roger that we were ready for February testing.

Basically, he made sure to dig our graves for us.

The morning of the seventh, first Saturday of the month, I was so nervous that I ate my porridge. Seriously, it was a first.

«Jacky» a voice stopped me between bites, making a spoon of porridge fall on my dungarees.

«Oh…» I glared back at the gaping Backup. «What?»

«You're lucky!» He chanted. «People are not allowed to enter the testing rooms without perfectly neat clothes.»

«And how am I lucky if you just made me dirty them?» I asked venomously. «You know I am taking the tests too, right?»

«Hm!» Backup nodded eagerly. «Everyone's been talking about it.»

I glared.

«No need to remind me.»

Backup chuckled.

«You» he pointed at the porridge spot on me, «are lucky.»

He kept pointing around wildly.

«Is that supposed to make me feel better? Why?»

«Everyone is supposed to wear those white clothes that are given to you at the beginning.»

I thought for a moment.

«Oh, so my current pajamas.»

Backup nodded. «You are lucky that those are still un-porridged.»

I rolled my eyes.

«Why am I supposed to wear them, anyway?»

«Measures against cheating» Backup replied sardonically, glancing at the table by the window.

«What have my pajamas got to do with anything?»

«For one, the outfit doesn't have pockets nor anything of the sort.»

I stared at Backup, unimpressed.

«Well, that's all fine and dandy, but you could wear something underneath.» I suggested.

Backup cackled.

«Just try and see what happens!»

I looked at him curiously.

«What?»

«Those clothes are made to absorb ink!» I stared at him in bafflement.

«Say what?»

«If they come into contact with ink, huge splotches form on them, and teachers will immediately know you've a crib sheet on you.»

I snorted

«But that's stupid. Don't they know that you write with a pen? Meaning: ink? And black one on top of that?»

Backup giggled.

«You'll see when you get there.»

I crossed my arms in irritation.

«But there are many other ways of cheating, like, dunno, whispering the answers or something!»

Backup giggled.

«Oh, someone shows cheater potential here! But no, they'd hear you or see you moving your lips.»

I frowned.

«Whatever. I'm not interested in cheating anyway.»

«Oh?» Backup seemed disappointed. «Most people usually try the first few times. How are you going to pass if you don't?»

I stared at the ceiling trying to seem like I knew some heroic answer.

«Things can only get better from here on.» I answered honestly. «It doesn't matter to me if that's delayed for a bit. I'm not cheating.»

Backup seemed to lose his interest in our conversation and walked away, leaving me alone, with a cold bowl of porridge in front of me and an alarming lack of appetite.

After breakfast, I walked to my room and changed into my pajamas, or apparently, the super special clothes. Once done, I quickly hurried to the auditorium where the test for non-Heads would be taking place.

Neither Backup, nor Near, nor Echolalia & minions were here. Someone suddenly pulled at my hair from behind, and I could see Mello grinning hugely.

«What?» I grumbled nervously.

He seemed really up-beat, unlike me.

«I'm gonna win this thing.» He declared confidently. «You'll see, next time, I'll be taking these as Head of M!»

I smirked.

«Sure you will. M's pretty bad ranking anyway.»

«Says the loser from J.»

I stuck my hands into my pockets, only to discover they weren't there. So I quickly drew them upwards, to flick red hair strands out of my face embarrassedly.

«I don't think I'll get very high in this one, since I overly suck at square roots.» I looked at Mello dead in the eye. «But don't you worry, M-Moron, I'll be kicking your butt soon enough.»

And with that, one of the teachers entered the room and started talking.

«Alright, hereby, the tests shall begin.» He glanced around. «For those new here, the procedure is as follows: we're calling you out in hazard order,» he said gesturing to his other colleagues. «You will follow whoever calls you, and will be given a folder containing a test and pen once in a specific classroom. You may open it as soon as the light goes on. Other than that,» he paused, his voice turned threatening, «don't cheat.»

I swallowed drily. My hands were really cold and sweaty. Teachers started calling out names. I hoped I wouldn't get Vladislav…

I saw Mello getting called away by a blonde guy with glasses and felt my heart sink, it would've been nice to at least be in the same room as him…

Finally, only two teachers and very few students were left: a green eyed woman, and Vladislav.

Please. I thought. Please. I want the woman. Not him. Please. I wanna get the woman…

«And… J-Jacket?» I lifted my eyes in fright- but no… it wasn't him. The copper haired teacher smiled at me.

«Oh, are you Jacket?» I nodded stiffly. «That's great, then let's go.» She patted my head. «He'd be the last one,» she told a few other, much older children. «Let's get a move on.»

«U-umm… I, uhhh… I'm a girl…»

«Sorry? I didn't quite catch that?»

I tried to speak a bit more loudly, as our group started walking.

«I… umm… I'm a girl.»

«Huh?» The woman seemed a bit surprised. To my own surprise, she just smiled.

«Oh, are you? I'm sorry, Jacket.» She's remembered my name! «Come to me some time… I'll trim your hair some, okay? We don't want you getting confused again, now do we?» I nodded.

«Uhmh… wh…what's your name…?»

«I'm Kathie, but everyone calls me Mss. Kath. Is that okay by you?» I nodded.

She looked at me questioningly. «By the way, how old are you?»

I looked at her shyly.

«F-five…»

She smiled.

I wasn't a very shy person, but this woman somehow made me feel so self conscious… yet she was so kind…

She giggled, patting my head again. «That's no problem then! You just seemed way older!»

«Huh?»

«You mispronounce some words, yet it's still very good for someone so young! Children usually make mistakes when speaking. That's when their mom and dad patch in and help them. In your case, I'll do it! I'm an English teacher!»

I nodded happily. Kath turned away from me and towards our whole group.

«We're here guys.»

She unlocked the door to the astrology classroom. It was dark inside, yet I could still make out a few desks.

«Everyone, take a seat.»

We all entered one by one, and she handed us a black folder. Once we were all seated, Kath glanced at her digital watch.

«Okay… so no opening of the folders now. When everyone is ready, Roger will turn on the general lights so you can start writing. You'll have three hours from then.»

I couldn't see anyone else's face in the darkness, but none of them looked to be nervous.

I think there were eight of us, being the smallest group out of them all.

I could see why it'd be so difficult to cheat, with so few of us present.

A few eternal seconds passed by, or maybe more than that. Maybe five minutes? Or twice as much? Dunno.

The only thing I know is that when the light went on, my hands barely managed to open the folder. Inside, I could feel a pen, which I drew out. Afterwards, I stuck my hand into the envelope again. I could feel three stapled groups of paper sheets. I drew the first one out at random.

The paper was black.

I stared at it in surprise. With capital, white letters, I could read the English for SOCIAL STUDIES at the front.

How am I supposed to write on a black paper? I wondered in a panic. Yet when I tried the pen out, to my utmost surprise, it wrote in white.

Was this what Backup had meant?

I quickly shrugged it off and started reading.

The questions were mainly about geography and history, biology, or topics which required the usage of general knowledge.

It goes without saying that after finishing it, I felt utterly worthless. I had written vague answers to some questions who rang a bell, and I knew some law concepts as well, (thanks to Near's generosity,) but overall, my test was disastrous.

With a hole in my stomach, I took out the next paper, which happened to be SCIENCES.

Upon closer inspection, this part of the exam was very different to what I had been expecting. There were barely any mechanical operations in the first sheet. I could only see a bunch of triangles and squares here and there.

Was this really math?

Ah, but no. The answer was simpler than that.

Patterns.

This first sheet was entirely devoted to patterns!

I felt the hole in my stomach loosen up a bit. If this was anything like the admissions test, I would be okay. Not to mention that I was on equal grounds with everyone else on this. There was no need to be good at square roots to do it right!

And true to my thoughts, we were only assigned to guess patterns, draw up answers to make them work out, or predict the next few steps. It was overall a piece of cake as long as you knew what was going on.

But my joy was soon interrupted by the familiar sense of panic upon seeing the next page. Problems on the law of Coulomb. What was that law anyway? I quickly skipped those and moved on. There were a few other things, with signs I could not identify, but overall, the physics part was pretty short. As I turned the last page, I was half expecting to discover it filled up with more "sorcery" or words and problems I could not even comprehend, but to my surprise, there was only a plain text and a little drawing of a few cubes,—I knew they were atoms, since they really resembled one of those crystal lattice structures Vladislav had forced onto Mello and I as a form of punishment.

This confused me. Hadn't I already passed the chemistry and physics part? What was this doing here then? I glanced at the top of the page, which still clearly spelled MATHEMATICS.

Instead of skipping the page like I'd previously intended, I skimmed over the text next to it, to find that there were no complicated symbols in it! I quickly re-read it again, but all my hope was yanked away upon understanding that I didn't understand anything whatsoever. The problem said:

"As shown in the diagram to the right, line segment A aligns itself periodically into a cube, and atoms are located at each vertex. Within, forming a uniform crystal lattice structure, Na, K, and other alkali metals attack the crystal lattice. Within the cube, focus on a certain atom A and within the points in the nearby space, let D represent the area that comprises the atoms closest to A. Find the volume of D."

After wrecking my brain for a while, I decided it'd be best to just ignore all the complicated names and try to simplify the problem as much as possible. In the end, I ended up scribbling this on the back of the page: "A bunch of atoms surround another one, let's just call him Popular. Then, there are these imaginary lines of unknown length that pass through the centres of the atoms, forming a cube around Popular. What I'm actually supposed to do is find the volume of Popular, with the knowledge that Popular has the same volume as all the other atoms, his Minions."

So basically, all I was really doing was finding the volume of Popular by using the cube.

Now, I thought in Russian, (having quit t m trying to reason it out in English) if each vertex has an atom as its core, then that means that in a cube, there will be 8 atoms total in one cube. These 8 atoms are Na, K, and the other alkali metals, Popular's Minions!

They're attacking the crystal lattice in the drawing, which is represented by Popular, who's at the centre of the cube. I quickly wrote a P under the atom that connected all four squares in the picture. So eight Minions are each on a vertex of intersecting segments…

Ugh…

I gripped my hair in irritation, pulling at the blood red strands in agony.

This is unsolvable. I brooded, stupid math problem… I turned the page around once again and started doodling over another unfinished problem. Besides, why are there supposed to be so many of those perfect cubes in nature? I pondered hotly, no one can see them! That's just impossible. I drew a cube on the paper halfheartedly.  
While I kept on fuming, I started attaching more cubes to the first cube.

Huh?

I contemplated the doodled paper. It sort of reminded me of one of those structures Near liked to build… only drawing them was easier, since you could utilise the same wall for two different squares…

!

Imaginary lines that pass through the centres of the atoms, forming a cube.

No way.

It couldn't be like my drawing, could it? But this was a math problem. It would very well be the case! No, in fact, it had to be! All this time, while my focus had been only on one particular cube, I totally ignored the other cubes those eight Minion atoms had to be connected to by default!

If one atom of alkali metals is connected to eight different cubes, that means that the atom itself is split into 8 different parts. So really, out of the 8 atoms in the cube, only 1/8th of each is in the cube, making a grand total of… one atom!

I couldn't believe it. It seemed so obvious now.

That only leaves the undivided atom Popular at the centre of the cube, which I'm trying to find the volume for. Since Popular supposedly takes up the same volume as the Minion, then I already know that it can only be half of the cube.

A cube's volume formula is length multiplied by its width and by its height. As a cube, the length and width and height are the exact same. So the shortened formula would be Lenght^3. The length of each segment is undefined, so I have to leave it as (a) which is the name given to it at the beginning.

So the volume of Popular would be: 8·a^3/2

Unbelievable.

I flipped back the paper and wrote the answer on it. That was so obvious and I hadn't seen it because my mind was way too narrow minded. I only focused on the problem at hand… Mello would get his kicks out of this.

I whacked my head in shame.

That problem was like… made for the dumb people who didn't know anything whatsoever and I nearly quit!

That's so lame… how am I supposed to surpass Near like this?!

As my gloomy mood became indignation, I swiftly stuck my hand into the folder to see what the last part of the exam was about.

LINGUISTICAL SKILLS.

Well great. The consolation price for dummies. As much as I felt like doodling again, I forced myself to stay focused on the task at hand. The only interesting thing we had to do besides some boring exercises about synonyms and meanings was to write an essay about world pollution and how we'd help fix this problem (the most common essay topic these days really) so I wrote a bit about it, listlessly hoping the bell or whatever would ring soon. In the end, I launched into a more elaborate explanation to waste some more time, but was left without space to keep writing. I spotted a last bunch of papers, which spelled FOREIGN LANGUAGES at the top. So I used them to keep writing the unfinished essay, (and just in case switched to German and later to Russian). At the end, I also suggested that every elementary school should have a subject in which the little children were helped to plant a tree of their choice, and afterwards shown how to take care of it. This, I wrote, would make the number of trees grow, and teach civilians the value of growing plants. (Not to mention that you'd get extra slacking off time!) Anyway, by the time I'd finished writing down even that, I really didn't care about revising anymore, I just wanted to leave the classroom already. It seemed hard to believe that the test wasn't over yet.

«Uh… Kath…» I asked. «How much time is left?»

The teacher's green eyes were fixed on me with intent. She chuckled.

«Just a little longer. Only another forty minutes or so.»

I nearly had a heart attack. This woman and I clearly didn't share the same view on time.

«Uuuh… may I leave…?» I dared to ask. Seriously, I had nothing to lose anyway.

«Yes, if you're done?»

I nodded.

«Okay, then hand me the test, Jacket» I did and quickly stormed towards the door.

«Bye!»

I closed it behind me and just stood there for a while.

I felt tired, even though I hadn't really done anything…

So I strode away, looking for somewhere to lay down on…

And bingo! I opened a door at random, confusing it with the entrance to the trophy room, a shortcut to room 158, and found myself in a huge place, where I clearly hadn't been before. This surprised me since I could've sworn I had already been at all the areas open to the public. Yet this was like… the most expensive living room I had seen yet, although it still looked to be really inviting. Specially that couch over there. I plopped down on it. I was just gonna rest my legs for an instant, seriously, I'd get up immediately… Yet strangely, I kept pushing that moment further and further away…


	16. Lucky me

_Chapter sixteen_

Near was found by Nike in their common room, completing one of those intricate constructions he was capable of building in mare minutes. Nelly, right next to Nike, nudged the blonde's shoulder in confusion.  
«What is it?» asked Nike, snapping her head back towards her classmate. Nelly just pointed towards one of the couches closer to them. Right there, Nike could see the ginger haired troublemaker, the one with the saggy clothes who Echolalia seemed to have a thing against, unceremoniously taking a nap.  
«What's up with him?» Nike wondered, staring at the disjointed form laying on the unfortunate couch. «Are you kidding me? Is he seriously sleeping?»  
«What's he doing in our common room anyway?» Nelly added as an afterthought.  
Nike turned towards Near. If Nelly wanted to know, she'd have to ask him.  
«Uhhhh… Near, uhhh… do you know… um… for how long he's been here?»  
Near's eyes lifted from his construction almost reluctantly, slowly fixating on Nike, then wandering towards the soundlessly sleeping flame-hair.  
«I am assuming you mean Jacket.»  
Nike nodded.  
«Yeah, him!»  
Near breathed deeply, almost as though he was irritated by something. Nike knew that he did it frequently though.  
«It's almost been an hour.»  
Everyone listening was surprised.  
«What? But… he's wearing testing clothes!»  
«Testing finished five minutes ago!»  
«Does that mean he quit?!»  
Near ignored the crowd and resumed his crafting.  
«Oi…»  
North, who had just arrived, pinched the sleeping beauty on the cheek.  
«You.» She said plainly.  
The red-head's eyes remained closed.  
«Intruder…» was the only response given. Afterwards, the current centre of attention turned around, burying the infamous red locks elsewhere.  
But North wouldn't have it.  
«Are you aware where you are?»she pressed, grasping a few red strands and pulling at them.  
The sleeping troublemaker remained faithful to the _pretend she's not here_ attitude.  
North was angry now.  
«You _will_ listen to me! This room is only meant for people in N! So you get out, you J!»  
Jacket's eyes slipped open. She was dead set on concealing the pain in her head (courtesy of the girl pulling her hair).  
«Huh…?» she just grit out mockingly.  
«Yes, that, get out! You lousy slacker! You didn't even try passing the test!»  
«The name's Jacket.»  
«I don't care about your name!»  
«Would you not care if I called you Louse then?»  
North could've shot laser beams out of her eyes had she been able to.  
«Who's calling who a louse!?»  
« _You're_ calling _me_ Jacket. I'm calling _you_ whatever you want me to.»  
North closed her eyes and breathed in deeply in an attempt to not snap at the louse.  
«You're a louse, or a Jacket covered in lice if you will, and nothing you do or say will change your lice-alike-ness.»  
Jacket glared at her.  
«And why am I so much like a louse, huh?»  
North narrowed her eyes.  
«You suck up to people, attaching your stinky eggs to their brains, scratching around, stepping where you shouldn't and being an absolute nuisance!»

Jacket giggled at the comparison. Suddenly growing serious, she grit out:  
«Excuse me? Have you and I ever _talked_ before? Because I got the impression that we haven't, so you don't have _any_ right to say all those things without even being aquatinted to me! I don't even know who you are, you desert armadillo!»

«Phuah!» Nike interrupted, cackling tremendously. «De-desert armadillo?! North? Good one buddy!» she kept laughing, yet no one followed.  
Jacket took that as her cue to get out of there.

«That impudent brat!» North burst out. «But she's just asking for it! She'll get the worst score out of them all!»  
Everyone agreed. Yet,  
«Heh»  
Even though it was barely a whisper, everyone heard it. They all knew that it meant something coming from him.  
«Near…?» North paused, a silent beckon to speak out.  
«As it is, Jacket's score can't get any worse.»  
Everyone looked on in bafflement.  
«You mean…»  
«Is that even…?»  
Their reverberating laughter could be heard from far off. This time, everyone laughed along.  
(Except Near, but he didn't count.)  
 _What a wimp! He's literally got the worst score EVER!_  
But their laughter would soon die out. The next morning, on Sunday, everyone stormed off to the hall to take peak at the new chart, which declared everyone's scores in the form of a percentage. That being said, this specific chart didn't include Heads, and it didn't follow a particular order, so finding your own name was always difficult. Especially when sandwiched between North and Nelly.  
Nike scowled at her peers in irritation as she quickly checked for her name. Her green eyes skimmed over the chart and she couldn't help but notice that this month's scores were unusually low. She sighed. Since they were represented in the form of a general percentage, that only decreased the value of the ususal average score for every better scores that kept appearing. Not to mention that each test was more difficult than the previous one. Thankfully, she always got one of the best scores… it couldn't be that bad this time, could it?  
She kept searching for her name.  
Under…47.5%  
Moon….31.8%  
Nelly…...64.2%  
Oh well, Nelly did pretty good this time around…  
Rascal….…33.7%  
Pandemic….17.8%  
Jade….58.3%  
Shadow….42.0%  
And then…!  
There she was!  
Nikè…82.4%  
She smiled to herself.  
«Well?»asked North right next to her. «What'd you get?»  
Nike tensed.  
«82.4… you?»  
North grit get teeth and turned away.  
Nike grinned in relief.  
 _Beat 'cha!_  
North frowned.  
«Let's look for the louse's cero» she muttered darkly.  
Nike shrugged.  
«Yeah let's»  
«What was his alias again?»  
«Jacket.»  
Both girls quieted as they searched for the name in question.  
«There!»  
Both stared on in surprise.

!  
Jacket…66.6%  
 _No way._  
«Just what…»  
Nike mumbled nonplussed.  
«Do you think he cheated?»  
North shook her head with distaste while Nike scratched her cheek.  
«Possibly…»  
«It's the only possible explanation…»  
North laughed forlornly.  
«And just look at that number! 666! Is it witchcraft or something?»  
Nike grinned.  
«Maybe Hades is on his side…»  
«More like, he's Beelzebub's spawn!»  
They laughed merrily.  
«Well, he sure looks the part!»  
Grinning, both strode over to the dining room.  
Jacket was also sitting there, eating porridge.  
North narrowed her eyes.  
«He doesn't even look happy!»  
Nike nodded.  
«Damn…»  
«Oi, you! Louse!»  
Jacket looked up from her plate, smearing porridge all over her chin.  
«Eww… gross…» mumbled North.  
Jacket looked at them and it was impossible to know what was going through her head. It kind of made the two N rivals uncomfortable.  
«So tell us…» North started «What spell did you cast? Was it maybe in that shabby book that's so precious to you?»  
 _The portfolio…_  
Jacket shrugged.  
«Look,» she started in her weird mispronouncing voice «if you don't shut your trap, I'm hexing you into a real desert armadillo, or better, a blowfish! That way, when you talk, only some lame bubbles will come out of your mouth and I won't have to listen to you any longer!»  
Nike sputtered in laughter.  
«I'll give him that, boy's got fantasy!»  
Jacket glared.  
«I am a girl!»  
North blistered.  
«Are you pulling my leg?»  
Jacket crossed her arms.  
«What do you want from m-»  
«Jacket.»  
She whirled around. It was Roger. He was smiling and his eyes crinkled happily behind his moon-shaped glasses.  
«Congratulations.»  
Jacket looked at him for a while.  
«On what?» she asked dumbly.  
Nike and North exchanged looks.  
 _She doesn't know?_ They pondered. But wouldn't she know if she had cheated? Was this all an act?

I stared at Roger's pink dotted neck tie and at the two girls behind him. Desert armadillo aka blowfish was pouting her lips off and the blonde girl… I don't really know what she was doing.  
Was there some kind of event today? Why would Roger congratulate me?  
As I thought about it, I remembered that Mello's birthday was supposed to be soon… maybe it was today and Roger had confused it with mine?  
That had to be it.  
I grinned.  
 _Man am I smart._ Deducing _that_ with _so_ little to go on… I grinned playfully at my (admittedly stupid) inner joke. Roger's harrumphing brought me back to the here and now.  
«Mmm… today's not my birthday…» I ended up saying. I would've nearly facepalmed afterwards.  
 _Gee, I could've used this chance to get Mello's birthday gifts! They'd probably be a lot better than mine anyway…_  
Roger laughed heartily.  
«I know it's not Jacket, who do you take me for?»  
My head snapped upwards in surprise.  
I hadn't been counting on that one.  
Roger extended his hand and ruffled my hair affectionately.  
«Jacket, as of today, you're Head of J.»  
I stared at him. Porridge dripping out of my gapping mouth and all.  
I am… a Head.  
Oh no way… THAT'S AWESOME!  
«Klassna!»  
I stood up happily, jumping over the chair and spilling porridge all over.  
Roger was probably used to my antiques since he didn't comment on my fervent jumping around while screaming in Russian, but it did make others (the whole dining room) stare at me like I was a crazed King Kong on the loose.  
I grinned in satisfaction.  
«Ya hear that Near?!» I pointed at the snob with self-sufficiency. «I'm a Head! Beat that! Head in my first test! Oh yeah! How's that, huh? I bet you're speechless!»  
Near didn't comment.  
But to make it up, the whole dining room did.  
«That's bound to be a lie!»  
«I bet he cheated!»  
«No way!»

I stared at them.  
Gee… what's their problem? Why are they always calling me a him anyway?  
«JUST SO YOU KNOW, I AM A GIRL!»

«What!?»  
If it hadn't before, now it had. Chaos broke out.  
Amongst all the madness and Roger's scolding, Mello walked up to me, a fuming mess, and demanded proof of both my new status and gender, which Roger was happy to deliver.  
«Yes, of course Jacket is a girl, Mello, don't be rude!» (Conveniently leaving out that he had fallen for it too.) «And yes, she _did_ pass the test with a good score.» (Don't ask me how) «Since it's the best out of all the J genus, she's becoming the Head.»  
Mello gave me a dirty look. Apparently he didn't deem me worthy of his attention if I was a girl.  
I frowned.  
I said it from the beginning, he's a dumb, sexist, xenophobe!  
But I still couldn't help but feel a pang of sadness. I guess, over time, I'd opened up to him somehow… I sighed lamely, some of my initial euphoria leaving me.

«Well, thanks for telling, Roger!»

I paused for a moment, wiping porridge of my face. People weren't staring at me in admiration like I thought they would, like they _should_ if I made J's head, right?

Maybe they thought I'd cheated… or maybe they just disliked me no matter what.

«Hey Roger…» I mumbled. «Are you sure there aren't any mistakes?»

Roger blinked.

«Of course not.» He said softly, «but I'd still like to discuss the results with you.»

I nodded.

«Guess I'll have to clean up first though…»

Once in Roger's office, I observed quietly as he took a seat behind his messy desk, drawing out a stack of papers.

«Let's see… Jacket.» He breathed in deeply, gaze fixed on the papers. «Your test has been quite peculiar, and it's ensured much controversy amongst us teachers. The thing is, some parts were very well done, and others… well, not done at all. We've never had a Head that was suspended in at least, two of the three tests…»

«Wh…? But-»

«Yes, yes. I know you must be confused. Let's see… the reason your score is so high is due to your LANGUAGE test, in which you got a 345%.»

«What? Is that even possible?»

«Yes, this is due to your 95% in English, plus another 100% in German, plus another 150% in Russian.» Upon seeing my confused stare, Roger explained: «Usually, foreign languages are never tested in first years, which would explain why you don't know of this rule, but additionally to the English test, and if and only if you score over 90% in it, foreign languages can also be taken into account in case you want to give them a try as you did. Foreign languages with a different alphabet imply another extra 50%, hence the 150% in Russian.»

I gaped at him. No way… I got another 350% just like that?

«Additionally to your language skills, you did very well in patterns (98%) and the final math problem, which cost 30% of that subject. Other than that, your others subjects—with the exception of law (79%)—were quite disastrous.»

I sweatdropped. Well… I knew that…

(…)

Roger sighed.

«Jacket pay attention.» I nodded lamely. Apparently I'd been spacing out.

«What were you saying again?»

«I was saying that with all these varying scores, teachers didn't quite know whether to pass or fail you, so we resorted to the importance criteria established by L.»

«What on earth is that?»

«Well… L once labeled all our main subjects based on how much he uses them himself. According to this, naturally, foreign languages came out on top.»

«What? Why»

«L emphasized their importance, given the fact that they're compulsory for him to solve cases worldwide.»

«Ahha…» I babbled out. _Just what the…_ I'd had no idea about that! L solved cases WORLDWIDE?! What was he, a workaholic Martian?! There's no way someone can pull _that_ off!

Meanwhile, Roger kept on ranting.

« Besides languages, law concepts and analytical capacities are also very important, and those are coincidentally two areas in which you did very well, hence your 66,6% or 2/3 as final score.»

I nodded slowly.

This was crazy.

I passed the test without knowing anything?

Well. Cheers.


	17. Timeskip baby!

_Chapter Seventeen_

My alarm clock went off. I'd programmed it to retrieve data from the English weather station and send me a notification of the morning forecast. Yes, programmed. I'd taken a liking to coding over the course of the past two years as Head of J.

I glanced at my cute little alarm clock; it seemed to think that it'd rain today. Too bad, I'd been looking forwards to PE. I sighed, lowering _El hidalgo don Quijote de la Mancha_ from its place on my pillow and sat back up on bed. As I began doing my morning stretches, I summoned my timetable to mind. My constant nightmares had made me begin to read after failed sleep attempts (which usually didn't last more than two hours) and the exhaustion that this ensured made me fall asleep in class, which meant that I had to read through the material at night, which all in all created a vicious circle. Thus, I'd somehow gotten used to sleeping through boring classes and reading in the (sure) event that I had a nightmare. Surprisingly enough, I was more times than not already aware of the class material missed, so I spent most nights reading other books of my interest.

I now checked my mental timetable for any subjects worthy of paying attention to as I began doing the splits. The rest would do for replenishing sleep. I'd have Criminology first thing in the morning, which was a compulsory subject for the nine first Heads in the list. Just my luck that I'm that number nine. Anyways, Criminology is actually a total bore, as it covers Law Enforcements most of the time and the teacher's a drag. So two hours of sleep there. Right after Criminology, I'd have Chemistry, which could be interesting if we were having practical lessons (today was not that day, alas!), and after that we had maths, the only nice class so far. Then came the horror of social studies, and then it would be lunch time. Afterwards came the elective subjects. Today I had, to my dismay, Psychology and private tutoring for Chinese. I actually regretted signing up for any electives at all, but Nike had managed to pester me into attending Psychology with her, (yes, we were friends now), and as for Chinese… well, I'd chosen to learn more languages simply because I couldn't stand the notion of Near beating me at that one thing. I'd already decided that I wasn't interested in succeeding L, not really, but my pride could only deal _that_ much damage. And letting either Near or Mello best me in languages, my strong suit, would feel like utter defeat. I'd already let Mello surpass me in tests anyway, as I was too preoccupied with my friends to care any longer, but this… I couldn't consent.

Somehow, now that I _had_ friends, I'd realised that I did not want to be alone again. I'd also realised that L must be a very lonely person, and his job rather depressive. I came to understand that I wasn't cut out for the loneliness it entailed. So, given that, why bother with the rankings so much? Ninth place was more than enough to satisfy all my desires. I sighed dramatically. Picking out my old dungarees and a tattered yellow pullower, I slipped into my sandals and made my way towards the showers.

Today would be my first real test as one of the nine best, which was the highest class in Wammy's. The tests for Heads only took place every four months, so if you messed up, you messed up good. In any case, the only thing that would vary from other times would be the classroom in which I took it, so I wasn't too preoccupied. I was certain I'd do well.

"G'morning," someone slurred next to me. Turning around, I saw Nike standing to my right in the line for the showers. I knew from experience that, unlike me, Nike was a heavy sleeper and not particularly agreeable in the morning.

"Rise and shine, winged goddess." I deadpanned in a drawl, as always. Nike had actually not taken her name from the sports brand, but from a greek goddess who was usually seen carrying wings, hence my reference. As it turned out, Nike was a tremendous fanatic of mythology, which seemed to be the base of all her beliefs. She could always relate _anything_ to some sort of ancient tale, to the point where I now knew about Romans and Greeks better than I did my true name. Obviously, the name she'd chosen for herself, Nike, represented the goddess of strength, speed, and victory. Kind of the best one to have, if you ask me. A very Near-like thing to pick, as he relishes in victory above all, (no wonder Nike can't stop blabbering about him).

Apparently, Nike the goddess was also a very close pal ofAthena, another divinity. This, for some reason, led Nike to think that, by extension, it was a great idea calling me Athena, as if I haven't got enough names with Jacky, Jay, Jacket, Jecky, Jackpot etc. — She specially enjoys calling me this when I've done something she considers Athena-worthy, like for example punching Mello on the head, or getting a ridiculous tomato of an eye in a fight against some dude, (as Athena is the goddess of war amongst others).

Still, Nike _was_ my friend, and the lack of a void felt nice.

"Head tests are today, aren't they?" Nike shook me out of my reverie as we stepped into the showers.

"Yeah…"

"You'll be taking it in Near's classroom, won't you?"

 _Something_ tells me this isn't the first time she's asked me this. _HMMM_

"About the twenty third, perhaps?"

"Sorry?"

"Perhaps not. Ahhh, joy, _misteries_!"

"Earth to Jay…!"

"Uh… ignore that." I said grinning to myself. "Yes, we'll be in the same room." I added as an afterthought. "Though I can't ogle him for you today. I might mess up the test and then you won't have a spy to tell you what colour his trunks are."

I could practically see Nike blush on the stall next to me. I snickered. One… Tw-

"It's not like _that_!" she defended. Ahh… earlier than usual. I sighed as I listened to my friend rant about house companionship. How convenient of her to leave out her archenemy North. After a while of throwing my sponge over to North's cubicle making it look like it was Nike, I got bored and turned off the shower. I rolled my eyes when I noticed that Nike was _still_ haranguing while we were getting dressed. Was she trying to lie to me, or to herself?

"Well whatever." I said abruptly to get her to stop. "Just admit to your morbid fascination of Near already."

She did stop, though only for a moment.

"It's not morbid." Hook, line and sinker. "Then you admit to your fascination? I expected as much."

My friend was easy to play like that.

"Ugh!" I heard her huff indignantly as I stuck my head into a yellowish jumper. "Stop grinning like that!"

"Oh, what makes you assume I'm grinning?" I asked innocently.

"C'mon, Jay," Nike pouted with chagrin, "I know you are grinning in that stupid Cheshire cat fashion _and_ you know it too!"

I stuck my head out of the pullower to peak at her, my best poker face firmly in place. "You seem rather well acquainted with my facial expressions," I said wiggling my eyebrows.

"No duh. You always, _always_ wear that grin when you're up to one of your shenanigans!" Nike exclaimed, as I started finding it increasingly difficult to keep my countenance from twitching into the besaid grin.

But, spotting Near walking around the hallway was the last straw. The Grin multiplied tenfold as I skipped up to him. I must've looked like a creepy mountain troll.

"Near, my boy," I commenced charmingly "How _marvellous_ meeting you quite this instance!" a few people began to stare at us. "In fact-"

"What do you want."

What? How _could_ he? How rude of him to interrupt! Mind you, I was about to tell him I wanted to snog him purple and make kissy kissy sounds in his direction! _But_ Nike (suspecting my lascivious intentions to annoy her) somehow draped her arms around my neck, if not stopping me, making my charming declaration sound kind of like this:

"I shall desire to sno-AGH! hymj you PURPLE-ppssssh aggh LET ME GO DAMNIT!!"

A bunch of girls started giggling as I winked. I risked a glance at Near and, to my delight, discovered that he looked torn between appalled (because he knew I'd told him something outrageous) and annoyed at not understating the joke like the whole corridor had.

"My dear sir, you look puzzled indeed!" I cried in amusement, "More than usual, I mean." I added. "Hm, maybe you should tell him that more often, Nike, m'friend," I whispered secretly "I bet he'd feel elated at knowing you've compared him to a puzzle."

Nike then lunged at me oozing killer intent and I dove behind Near, throwing him in the general direction of my friend, shouting some dribble about a Prince Charming. I could just barely see Nike's purple face. I took that as my cue. I threw kisses all over the place. Then I bolted.

Half an hour later I was sitting at the breakfast parlour, right next to Backup. There was no way I was gonna risk sitting anywhere near Nike right now.

"Hey, Bee! GIMME! That's mine!" he'd stolen my toast. Again. Bee promptly ignored me and stuffed it into his huge black hole of a mouth. I sighed. We'd become friends about a year ago, when I went to the same Head class as him, which was the middle one. We spent most of it (when I wasn't sleeping) laughing at Echolalia and plotting how to ridicule her. The best moment I'd always treasure within my heart though, was still that one time when we'd invented she had a hole fobia due to an incident with a bunch of bees (which was also why I called Bee like that now, since he absolutely hated Backup and bee was just so similar to B).

"Hmm… class is so boring now!" Bee exclaimed. "This is your indemnification to me for leaving." And he took another toast. Ah, I forgot to mention we were speaking Russian. Somehow, I felt a connection with Bee for speaking my mother tongue. I guess he felt it too.

"Well if it's so boring, you could just upgrade into my class." I argued.

"I can't do that."

I frowned.

"What are you talking about? I've heard that you managed to get promoted a few years ago."

Bee pinched his nose in annoyance.

"Nothing to concern yourself with, Jacky."

I narrowed my eyes.

"Say what? Are you telling me you were expelled from the top class? As in, can't come back?"

Bee had trained his eyes on nothingness, or as he often called it, Aunie. Well, according to Bee it was a him.

"I told someone something, which this person relayed to Roger, claiming that I was clinically insane."

I narrowed my eyes.

"Hm, whatever."


	18. Author's Note

13/9/2017

Good day fellow fan girls (and others). No, I'm not putting Jacket on hiatus. I don't _do_ blasphemy, thank you. I am re-writing it though, as I think there are some major flaws in the story. Jacket is too mature at the beginning, for starters, I'm thinking she should grow up. CHARACTER DEVELOPMENT, GEEZ! I know, I know…

The first chapter has been re-writen. Take a look and tell me what you think. This is also your chance to point out any flaws you see in my story—there are plenty, almost too many, so any reminders would do Jacket some good. But just as you need to spot faults, it is also vital that you tell me what parts you like most, in order for me to know which scenes I definitely _shouldn't_ delete. If you read Jacket like, _ages ago,_ and don't feel like re-reading, just leave a review with the parts you do remember, which, believe it or not, would be extremely useful as well.

So. What are your thoughts? Tell me what you think of the first chapter. Did you notice a really big change, or rather something uneventful? I'm dying to hear of you!

By the way, the rewrite is happening now because the first part of the series is complete, so to say.

* * *

15/9/2017

Okay. Hello again! Chapter two has been modified as well! I can't believe the sheer amount of typos I found in there! PS. I think it's a bit too long, but bleh.

* * *

16/92017

Chapter three's up guys! Man. I was getting kind of bored revising it.


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